Les philosophe de l'ABC
by GarrettJacobHobnobs
Summary: A crossover with the movie 'The Philosophers', in which the Amis are philosophy students who are faced with a hypothetical apocalypse, seventeen people, and only eight spaces in the survival bunker. Light Enjoltaire & Montparnasse/Jehan (A/N: For the sake of my wanting to include them, I've aged both Babet and Claquesous down to the same age range as the Amis - enjoy!)
1. Last session together

The last day of the academic year. The last class, the last time they'd be sat together like this – at least, until graduation anyway. The sun was still beating through the window panes, turning the students into ants, sat sweating within the confines of their nest, while the windows became multiple parts of a giant magnifying glass. This promised to be one of the hottest summers Paris had seen in years, and if today was any indication of things to come, Enjolras dreaded the long days and weeks ahead. Within a few minutes, every seat was filled, all save for one – the one two along to his right, and the one whose owner was nearly shut out of the room before the class began. Courfeyrac was lucky in that he was good at talking teachers out of punishing him, and In this case, his half-assed excuse and apologetic face only just meant that he was forgiven.

The look he received from both of his best friends was returned with a boyish smirk, but soon enough, they were all being prompted into silence as their teacher began to speak.

"It's been quite a year, I think we'd all agree. And in that year, you've all been stretching your minds to the limit. You've been challenged, and you've argued with each other, and I've seen some very interesting interpretations in your essays. But, our time together is coming to an end. And there's only one way I can really think of to properly bring this year to an end…"

He looked around almost expectantly, glancing from student to student to see if any of them any ideas of their own. He saw one of the girls – Cosette – fanning herself with a piece of paper in a vain attempt to stave off the suffocating humidity. And towards the middle of the room, a note being passed from Grantaire to Feuilly – one that only got a poorly suppressed smirk from its recipient, and an eye roll from the stern, blond young man by the window.

"Since you're all a little distracted this afternoon, why don't I give you all a question; something to wet your brains before the exercise begins." The teacher tried once more, this time his voice raising just enough to command all eyes back on him.

"Think back across the year, back to the thought experiments we've conducted. I wonder…do we have any favourites?"

Finally, a response came from the front row, in the form of a pale, freckled hand raising to face height.

"The infinite monkey theorem"

The teacher nodded, somewhat gratefully. "The classic way to wrap your head around the concept of infinity. Refresh our memories, if you don't mind"

"Sure – it's the theory that infinity is so endless, if you put a monkey in front of a typewriter and let him tap at the keys forever, eventually he'll manage to type out the entire script of 'Hamlet' word for word. Of course, the odds of him hitting all the right keys in the exact right order are minuscule – less than that – but, cross time without any limit, mathematically speaking anything has a chance of happening."

"Why that one?"

Jehan shrugged with a shy smile. "I just find the concept of infinity fascinating. Absolutely terrifying, yes…but fascinating, ultimately"

"Fair enough – any others?"

"The trolley problem" Came another voice, this time from the far left corner of the classroom. This time, it was Eponine.

"A runaway trolley, or carriage or whatever, is hurtling along out of control. Further down the tracks are five people, tied down. However, there's a lever you can pull that'll divert the carriage onto another set of tracks, where only one person is tied down. Do you save the one, or the five?"

"Do what's best for the greater good." Enjolras piped up, arms folded loosely across his front as he looked over at the dark haired woman.

"Or at least, as far as utilitarianism preaches." Said Combeferre, glancing towards his friend. "Who's to say that one life isn't as valuable as the five you're saving?"

"That's not what's being presented to us." Enjolras replied coolly. "We have a choice to make, and I'm choosing to save the five. It makes sense."

"What if the other person was your beloved?" Called Grantaire, causing Enjolras to narrow his eyes, but humour him none the less.

"What?"

"Five people, or your dear Patria? Who's it to be?"

The obnoxious grin on his face was almost enough to make Enjolras rise to the taunt, though the exchange was quickly interrupted by Eponine once more.

"What about this; there's a morbidly obese man by the tracks, who you calculate to be just heavy enough to derail the carriage if you pushed him onto the tracks instead. Do you do it?"

"Of course not!" Replied Musichetta, turning in her chair to face the other girl.

"Why not?" Came Enjolras' voice once more. "It's no more acceptable than the first situation – it's still murder."

Had they not been under time constraints, the teacher maybe would have let them all start this argument anew. It was one of the first he'd presented them with when they'd all begun the year, and was evidently still one they were all divided about. Clapping sharply twice, the heated tones died down once more.

"Okay, okay – let's hear another."

"It's not so much a thought experiment, but the debates we've had over the existence of God have been pretty entertaining." Offered Combeferre, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Or the question of whether or not we have free will?"

"Good choices, good choices...anyone else?"

Glancing around to check for other volunteers, Joly cleared his throat.

"The, ah…the ignorant bliss paradox?"

Prompted to explain why as his peers had, he swivelled in his chair in an awkward attempt to face all of his classmates at once.

"You're at the top of, say…Notre Dame, hanging onto the edge for your life. So, you call your three best friends to help you. They come running, but when they're faced with the seriousness of the situation, and the possibility of being pulled over themselves, none of them help you up. You fall…but inexplicably live. On the ground, you're elated you're alive, but are now faced with three people who you once trusted with your life who have shown themselves to not be worthy of that trust. Would you rather stay that way, or go back to how it was before? Would you rather go the rest of your life being friends with these people, not knowing your trust is somewhat misplaced?"

A sudden snort from the back of the room made them all turn. Giving Joly a smirk, Montparnasse sat forward, slowly lacing his fingers together in front of him on his desk. "'Somewhat'…that's cute. They let you fall from the top of Notre Dame. I say cut your losses. Fuck them."

"I agree. You can always find other friends" Said Marius.

"But from that point, you'd never be able to trust people in the same way" Grantaire added, offering his friend a theatrically doubtful expression.

"You have a good point…"

"I feel a 'but' coming on."

"But…" Smiled Cosette, "No two people are that alike in the world. There's no way of saying that your new friends wouldn't step up where your previous ones failed to."

"An equally good point – but! What are your chances that these new people are, In fact, trust worthy enough?"

"That wouldn't matter to you." Enjolras cut in, his tone sharp but weary from the heat. "You're incapable of believing in anything, let alone people."

"I believe in you"

"Oh, _please_-"

"I think we've all had enough of a warm up." The teacher cut in once more, sensing another argument already – the sort that wouldn't reap any sort of creative thought. To signal he was done, Grantaire folded his arms on the desk, resting his chin on his hands. Enjolras simply palmed a hand across his eyes and down the bridge of his nose.

"I want us all to imagine a global catastrophe; a complete and utter annihilation of the world as we know it."

"…How do you mean?" Asked Jehan, a curious frown drawing slight lines into his face. "Do you mean something like a viral pandemic? Or a meteor crash, or Yellowstone finally blowing up..?"

"There's a good one! Let's imagine Yellowstone park…but on a much larger scale. I'm talking the entire world coming to an end, as it were. How do you intend to survive?"

The room, for once, was quiet for a few moments before the late comer made himself known once again.

"I'd go underground, I guess"

"Underground…where? Do you have somewhere to go? Somewhere with supplies, fuel, oxygen?"

At that, Courfeyrac just smiled a little sheepishly as he shrugged. "Hypothetically I like to think so."

"Well, hypothetically, you do."

By this point, the teacher had everyone's attention, including Enjolras'. Waking his laptop, soon there was a sideshow of pictures being displayed on the board behind him. One by one, rooms were shown, all built in some 3D animation program. It was simple, but it put the message across. As he spoke, he occasionally clicked through the pictures.

"There's a bunker, specially designed for an apocalypse such as this. It has everything you could want; enough fuel, food, and water to last for a year. It's completely sealed off from the outside world, making it the perfect place to run to in the event of the world ending."

Pausing on one picture – this time of the dormitory – he looked around the room at each student.

"There's sixteen of you in here, seventeen including me."

"…But there's only eight beds." Combeferre stated, counting the beds in the picture once more to be sure. With a smirk, the teacher nodded.

"And this is where the fun part begins."


	2. Cast your vote

Once their new, hypothetical situation had been realized by all in the room, the interest of the students was safely grasped. All of them were intrigued about this new exercise they were being given, and all wanted to know more.

"I want you all to imagine you're stood outside this bunker. In the distance all you can see are vast clouds of volcanic ash. Deadly gas, molten debris…generally not a situation you want to find yourselves in, I think we can all agree."

"Okay, so…there's only eight beds. I'm sure we could alternate who sleeps where, ration the food supplies. I'm not seeing how this is going to be difficult"

The teacher simply shook his head, rendering Courfeyrac's suggestion pointless.

"I'm afraid that's not an option, and I'll tell you why. In this room here…are the generators." Clicking back a page or two, he settled on one of the previous animations; this time of a dark, plain room.

"All the breathable oxygen, once the outside doors are closed, will come from this room. It has been measured precisely to support exactly eight people for one year. Try to cram anyone else into the bunker, you'll all suffocate."

"Wait…what are you asking us, then? You're asking us to decide who stays in the bunker and who doesn't?" Asked Cosette, glancing from Marius to the teacher. "I don't want to have to do that – how are we meant to decide something like that?"

"With these." Her answer came in the form of a small box, filled with small cards. Leaning up from his desk, the teacher shook them up a little as he stepped towards each student one at a time, waiting for a card to be taken before moving onto the next person.

"Don't open your cards yet. Don't turn them over. We'll go through them one at a time."

As the rest of the class chose their cards, Grantaire fiddled with his – not turning it over or unfolding it to reveal anything, but just creasing down the corners, doodling meaningless symbols across the front. Once they all had one, the teacher returned to the front of his desk, perching on the edge as he addressed them again.

"Each of your cards contains a profession. A certain skillset. When you've heard them all, you'll all have to argue your case; why should you have a slot in the bunker? And, in turn, it'll be up to your colleagues to weigh your worthiness when it comes to bringing you in, or leaving you to rot."

"Charming…" Joly muttered across to Bossuet, who just pulled a face of agreement.

Motioning for the first student to read theirs, the teacher waited as Jehan turned his over first. When he smiled, the teacher found himself doing the same, albeit more curiously.

"I'm a published poet."

"Why do you seem happy about that?"

The question quietened the young man's expression immediately, but he still explained himself anyway.

"…I write poetry as a hobby anyway. I just find it funny that it's the card I got."

"But what can a poet bring to the bunker?" Pushed another voice, one unheard up till this point. Turning in his seat, Jehan met the eyes of Montparnasse's neighbour – Claquesous – with a gentle challenge of his own.

"Entertainment, inspiration, relaxation. We'll need those things to keep morale up."

The man across the room had his hood up, despite the heat, although the bright sunlight made it all the more difficult for him to keep up his ever-present air of mystery. His voice wasn't harsh in the most common sense, but in the way that it gets under your skin. Like a slow acting venom, his insults stayed with you and his arguments continued to irritate long after a debate had come to a close. Slowly leaning forward, he gave Jehan a slight sneer.

"I'll wager I can think of ten ways I'd rather relax than listen to you go on and on about a tiger's fearful symmetry."

"Let's see if we can get through the list before we start decision making. Let's hear from…Grantaire. What have you got for us?"

Rolling his eyes, Jehan gave his attention to his friend, who was pulled out of his doodle-driven daydream to turn his card over.

"I'm a farmer."

"Useful…alright, next?"

One by one, the cards were read out; Joly was an electrician, Bossuet a freelance illustrator. Musichetta was a classically trained ballet dancer, Eponine a neurosurgeon, and Cosette a psychiatrist, while Combeferre was a lawyer, and Courfeyrac a mechanic. Feuilly got to be a chemist, Marius a soldier. Montparnasse became an actor, Claquesous a veterinarian, Bahorel an architect, and Babet a singer.

"Quite a list…last but not least, Enjolras. What've you got for us?"

"I'm a survival expert." He replied quickly; in all honesty, he either wanted to continue with the experiment or be let out early. Whichever would distract him from the fact that he felt like he was melting slowly from the inside out.

"Alright. We've heard everyone's professions. All valid in one way or another, but in the face of human beings becoming close to extinct, what skills will you want to preserve for the future? I'm going to ask you to stand up one by one now, in the order you read out your cards, and your peers will decide if they want you in the bunker with them or not. You're free to argue your case if you see fit. But first, this room needs a little…rearranging."

As ordered, the room was soon divided into two sections, with desks and chairs placed into rows and turned to face each other across an aisle. With everyone sat down, the teacher turned to the crestfallen poet.

"Jehan, I know we've already heard two sides to yours, but did you have anything to add?"

"No, not really." He replied, with a small, resigned shrug, though his voice was still light. "I'd like to live. I think I could be useful. I mean, we're not just what our cards say, right? I have a knowledge of several different languages, which would be helpful if we needed to communicate with other survivors-"

"But that's not what you're being judged on." Montparnasse added, with less sharpness to his tone than his friend had had. "Sorry Keats, but I'm voting against. Anyone else?"

And with that, Jehan was out. Taking his turn, Grantaire gave a brief summary of why he should be allowed to stay, and was voted in fairly fast, as was Joly, Eponine, Cosette, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras. While his voting-in hadn't strictly been in order, it had been fairly unanimous that his were skills they'd need once the year in the bunker was up. However, once it got around to Bahorel, and as he stood to deliver his argument, the teacher's attention was caught by Musichetta's hand suddenly going up.

"Who are you in this situation? You've already counted yourself in with the rest of us, so what's your profession?"

A sly smile spread across the teacher's face.

"I'm glad someone thought to ask me that."

"So, we have to consider you as well?"

"You don't have to, no. But I recommend you do. I'm simply 'the wild card'. You don't know what skills I have, what I could be useful for." With a glance shot around the room at the faces of sudden uncertainty, the teacher turned to Bahorel, whose slot he'd been sure was guaranteed. With only one place left, he'd been sure he'd be voted in, what with his being followed by a singer – a profession he knew wouldn't be valued too highly.

"I could be ten times as useful as an architect, or even less help than a singer."

This new revelation brought new doubt into the room, with people looking to their choices and suddenly weighing them against this new, potential big win.

"Guys, come on – No offence Babs, but I think you can stay sat down." The other student went to argue, but Montparnasse gave him a look of agreement, shaking his head as if to say; 'don't make an ass of yourself, you know you got a shit card.'

"You'll need someone with a knowledge of architecture. We'll need someone who can build shelters, bridges, dams. Maybe not in the coming year, but in the future, my skills will be more than valuable. And besides – with me, you know what you're getting. You know I'll be useful. With a wildcard, you get landed with a cashier or a youtuber."

At the offended look he got from Musichetta, he offered her a sickeningly charming smile in apology.

"You know what I mean."

"I'm voting him in." Enjolras said at last, his naturally authoritative voice breaking through the low mumble of discussion like the final crack of a gavel in a courthouse.

"The risk of losing out is too high. I'd rather be safe than sorry." Putting his hand up, he looked to Combeferre. "Anyone else?"

One by one, the votes were cast; the wild card lost his slot to the architect. With everyone in their final seats, the teacher looked at the winning members of the class with a slow nod of approval.

"Well done…all very logical choices. So, what will you do now?"

"By now, we wouldn't have much time to waste. I say we go in, shut the doors, and make ourselves at home." Suggested Courfeyrac – an idea met with agreement from the others. And with permission from the teacher, the room was rearranged again, now with all the desks forming some kind of wall between the winners, and the losers, who could only practice their horrific deaths, watch others do so in amusement, or pretend to be heartbroken at being separated from loved one's who were now safely behind the hypothetical, reinforced glass of the bunker.

"You've all been buzzed in, you're all inside, and the doors are closed forever. What happens now?"

There was a general response of 'get used to the place', or 'find out how everything works and then discuss the hard decisions they had to make. Only one person, however, didn't seem so willing to settle. Clearing his throat, Joly waited for general quiet before speaking.

"Sir? Now that the voting's finished, I'm curious – what would you have brought to the bunker?"

"That's a good point – what did we sacrifice to keep Bahorel around?" Added Grantaire, clapping his friend on the back, who in turn crossed his fingers and, in a stage whisper, began to chant; "Please be a bin man, please be a bin man…"

Without a word, the teacher went to his laptop, and opened something else over the slideshow of pictures of the bunker. Within seconds, an AVI file was playing in full screen; it showed the doors of the bunker, and a simplistically animated man walking towards the camera. A moment later, he brought out a card, and pressed it to the glass of the doors. Only when it'd zoomed in on the writing did the winner's smiles fade.

'I'm the only one who knows the bunker's exit code.'


	3. Cabin Fever

Despite the fact no one seemed to be looking to him for someone to blame, Enjolras still felt the burning weight of responsibility. He'd been the one to argue against letting the wildcard in, and while it had made sense, and the risk had still been high, now he suddenly felt incredibly naïve for jumping to a conclusion so soon. With this new development in mind, things suddenly seemed to get far more interesting. The losers all made themselves comfortable in their seats or lounging on the floor of the classroom, watching the people who'd left them for dead now debate the possibility of their lives being limited to only one more year.

"Do we believe him?" Asked Eponine, keeping her voice low so that the others couldn't hear her – evidently, the situation, hypothetical or not, was becoming something of a role play for some members of the class. Hell, some of the students who'd lost out seemed genuinely disappointed that they wouldn't have the chance to live, or rather that they'd been brushed off so easily. Once or twice, Courfeyrac found himself catching Jehan's attention, asking if he was alright with just a quirk of the eyebrow, to which the poet would smile and nod reassuringly from his carpeted death bed. He was sad that he wouldn't be able to participate – after all, he loved this class more than most of his others, and this sort of exercise was something he truly enjoyed. But, maybe there'd be multiple rounds, where they'd be given different cards to choose from. Maybe he'd get to be something of practical value next time around.

"I would point out that, instead of writing out the code, he chose to just write that instead?" Combeferre replied, equally quietly as they all gathered around in a tight knit circle. "I think he's just toying with us; wanting us to feel bad for leaving him to die."

"Why don't we try opening the doors? See if he's right?"

"And let in volcanic gas and who knows what else? It's not worth the risk" Reminded Grantaire, his expression dipping into one of surprise when he saw Enjolras agreeing with him.

"He's right. We'll simply have to wait a year for the answer to that question."

Thanks to the pictures of their new experimental home giving them inspiration, their half of the room slowly became the bunker in their minds, with certain parts being sectioned off as each room. Gradually the other students faded out, leaving only imaginary space where the apocalypse-stricken world now lay. Soon enough they'd made tallies and lists of their food supplies, how often they ate and how much. How many days had passed, how everyone was doing – and with the occasional narration from their teacher shaping their experience, it slowly became very real to the students involved. Cosette took the thought of leaving Marius to die to heart, and at one point seemed honestly upset that more people hadn't voted for him.

When they'd been voting, it'd seemed like a school-room activity, one that the boys were playing off as a joke if they lost and a weekend victory if they were voted in. But the seriousness of the situation was infectious, and the more Joly checked the oxygen levels and Combeferre made lists and checked them twice, the faster they all took to their roles. While the eleven month marker was put down, Grantaire went and joined Cosette by the door of the bunker, nudging her lightly with his elbow.

"How're you holding up..?"

"I don't know if I want to participate anymore." She remarked in a small voice. "The premise was interesting, but…what if this had been real? We would have left our friends out there to die, simply because they weren't scientists or doctors."

"I guess, if the world ever ends, we'll have to make hard decisions. But, if that ever happens-"

"If that ever happens, I wouldn't be here – I should have given my slot to someone else."

"Why?"

"I've survived for the past eleven months, yes…but I haven't been alive. Not really. I've been miserable. Everyone has their jobs to do, and I've talked to some of the people here…but I keep thinking about what Jehan said, about morale. It sounds stupid, but…when you're with someone so much, and then with one vote, you're separated forever…I don't know, it hurts in a way you can't explain."

"Marius is your morale. I get it, don't worry"

"It's silly, I know"

"Nah, I understand. We're social creatures. We need affection, we need love." With another, more playful nudge, "Would you like me to recite you a poem?"

When she looked to her companion and saw his smile, she couldn't help but mirror it slightly.

"That's okay…"

"Maybe next time, Marius will get voted in. It's just an exercise, Cosette. Next time you can be with him, one way or another. Hey, I'll even vote for him if you like."

"That's very nice of you, but it's not just up to me and you. But, it's alright for you I suppose"

"Why do you say that?"

Giving him a knowing look, she nodded towards where Enjolras talking to Combeferre.

"Your person got voted in without any trouble at all, and neither did you. I have a feeling you'll be fine if there is another round."

"I'm not sure he's 'mine'"

"Well, maybe not now – have you considered talking to him? Telling him?"

"Are you kidding..? He'd laugh in my face. I'm only here because of my card – if I'd been anything else, he'd have left me out there to die just as fast as he did Jehan or Musichetta."

"I don't think-"

"Grantaire, Cosette – come on." Both looked up at the same time to see Bahorel stood over them, offering them both a hand up. "The year's up; we're testing the doors."

Not at all perturbed that they'd just talked a full month away, they got to their feet, and approached the desks. With their teacher waiting patiently with the other students, he let Enjolras make out that he was pushing a button to open the doors before he spoke up at last.

"I was telling the truth. You need a code, and since I'm long since dead…you're all on borrowed time, I'm afraid."

This obviously was not the answer Enjolras had wanted to hear, but it was the situation he was faced with. It was a frustrating waste of life, hypothetical or otherwise, and he could feel it turning his mood sour. While they weren't out of food yet, the rations were all but out, and the oxygen supply would give out in time as well. And apparently, the scene couldn't end until all were free, or all were dead. So, they waited. The last of the food was shared out.

And then, quite unexpectedly, Joly made the decision to end his own life.

It'd been a decision he'd explained rather eloquently once he'd done it – he hadn't wanted to go through a slow suffocation, nor had he wanted to watch his friends die before him. With one less person in the bunker, there'd be just a little more oxygen to go around, a little more time for them to come to terms with their own fates.

Only now, his death meant that starvation wasn't an option anymore. Logic was something that their teacher thrived on, but the fact that eating their friend was now being discussed was too much for two members of the group. Both Courfeyrac and Cosette followed Joly's example, and those who couldn't deal with what they'd been forced to do simply left the rest up to time. Eventually, their oxygen dwindled to nothing. Hypoxia set in, and soon, the first round came to a close.

As they came around to the join the rest of the class, everyone was struck by a stern, thoughtful silence, which was broken only by Joly's wide eyed rhetorical need for clarification from his fellow bunker-mates.

"You _ate me_"

"It was a matter of survival, Joly. You know that."

Eponine replied with a feigned air of seriousness, though she did urge the other's to awkwardly pile on top of him in a display of apology, perhaps in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Cosette and Marius sat together like magnets, hands entwined and kisses shared like it really had been a year since they'd seen each other last. Jehan was pulled into a hug with Courfeyrac, and it was in the crook of his body he remained as they sat back against the wall. As for Joly, once he'd been allowed to sit back up once more, had practically been dragged over to where Musichetta had been sitting, though thy both made room for Bossuet a moment later. Enjolras simply pulled a chair out and took a seat, either ignoring or not noticing the kind of look Grantaire was now giving him. They'd failed the exercise fairly spectacularly, and he wanted another round – another chance to prove they could do better. Stepping out in front of them all, the teacher got a general consensus of how they thought they did; not well, evidently.

"That's alright; although it's not something the human race is generally good at, let's see if you can learn from your mistakes in the second round."

"Do we get different cards?" Asked Montparnasse, his boredom painfully apparent. "It's all well and good for the ones who get to do shit, but the rest of us have just been sat here for half an hour doing bugger all."

Both Jehan and Musichetta looked back at the teacher in unison, hoping his answer would include them.

"No. You all keep your cards – But! There's something different this time. Let's have a new apocalypse, a new catastrophe."

"Natural disaster" Came Feuilly's suggestion, one that was met with even amounts of support and disagreement.

"Old school…I like it. A massive series of volcanic eruptions, let's say. Now, starting from this side of the room," he motioned to the left, "I want you to come up here, and tell us all your profession again. But then unfold your cards, and read whatever else they say on the inside."

Marius was the first to go this time. Getting to his feet, he went up in front of the class, and did as instructed, pulling his card out of his pocket.

"I'm a soldier, and…I have a fantastic sense of humour." Looking around the room, he felt himself smiling a little at the fact he was being considered.

"I think humour is something you guys really needed last time; I'll help keep the mood up, keep people feeling good…"

As promised, Grantaire put his hand up at the same time as Cosette, ready to defend his choice when he felt Enjolras' eyes on him.

"He has a good point. I mean, I love you guys – I spent a whole hypothetical year with you. But, we didn't really have a laugh. And that's something I think would go a long way."

"It's the end of the world, Grantaire – 'having a laugh' isn't a priority" Enjolras stated coldly. Grantaire just kept his hand up, and to his surprise, enough hands followed that Marius was included in the next turn.

"Alright. That's one slot filled. Who's next?"


	4. Up on the scales

"I'm a psychiatrist, who also…is skilled at hunting and fishing."

Not too surprisingly, Cosette was voted in faster than before. Visibly elated that she got her wish to be with Marius in their next round, she took her place with him inside the bunker. Next it was Courfeyrac's turn, who was just as confident as he had been in the previous round, until he read out his extra trait.

"I'm a mechanic, who is a compulsive liar." He didn't need to look at the faces of his friends to know his odds weren't great. Still, he tried appealing to those he was closest to, looking to Combeferre, whose mind was torn between what logic and his heart wanted to say.

"No one else here knows that much about cars – my skills will still be a necessity once the year's up"

"That's not true" Said Jehan, though his tone and face were both hesitant to say anything – after all, he wanted Courfeyrac to live if it was possible.

"Bahorel and Feuilly both know enough about mechanics that your extra characteristic pulls your bunker-worthiness down a few points"

"I'm afraid I have to agree with him."

"And me. Sorry, Courf'"

With the extra support from Enjolras and Joly, just like that, Courfeyrac was the first to face death by radiation. As he returned to his space on the floor, Jehan let Bahorel go before him, given their ambiguous seating plan.

"Alrighty…" His general playful, cheeky demeanour made people want to vote for him regardless, though at the look on his face when he read his card through once, doubt was already sweeping through the group.

"I'm an architect, who also has Chlamydia. But guys, come on – you'll still need someone to build things, someone with that knowledge-"

"We also need to think about repopulation." Replied Enjolras, followed by a nod from Combeferre.

"Besides – I don't think STI's are something we need to bring into the population if we can help it."

Taking the loss of votes well, he went to where Courfeyrac was theatrically holding his arms out, as if to comfort him in the most overdramatic way possible.

"It's alright, my friend. We both had a good run in round one."

"Ah, so true, so true."

"Okay Jehan, come up."

Giving Bahorel a gentle pat on the head as he made his way to the front, the redhead brought out his card, visibly anxious to see if his trait would save him this time.

"I'm a published poet, who-"

"BANG."

Their teacher suddenly yelling the word made more than a few of them startle back, and the gun he'd formed from his fingers that was pointed at Jehan's head only added to the confusion.

"…What?"

"I'm sorry, but his place goes to me. I'm simply saving you all the risk of having to choose between two people later on who should both be included, who couldn't be because you felt sorry for him."

"So you killed him?"

The look the teacher cast over the group was chilling, to say the least.

"A gunshot to the head is far more merciful than leaving him to suffer nuclear fallout. Or rather, letting you send someone with vital skills to die."

"You don't know what else my card said!" Snapped Jehan, his voice rising a little in disbelief and anger. "I could have been useful!"

"And are you?" The teacher retorted, motioning to his card, which was now being held to the poet's chest defensively. "Tell us, not that it matters – what is your extra trait?"

Opening his mouth to speak, his voice was much quieter as he answered a moment later.

"…I'm a published poet, who's also gay."

"Case in point."

"That's not fair – there's nothing wrong with that!"

"No, not in today's world. But that world is gone forever, with only a limited amount of people now inhabiting the Earth. What is a gay poet going to bring to the preservation of the human race? Homosexuality will always be present in nature, you're nothing special. And you can all wipe the offended looks off your faces. I've been teaching you all to think with your minds, not your feelings. Think logically now. You have only eight places in that bunker, you have to think practically."

Looking from the conflicted faces of the group to Jehan, who had a hundred and one words flitting across his face, but in a rare moment, had no way of putting them across, the teacher sighed.

"Go and sit down."

When he didn't move straight away, Courfeyrac got up and gently took his arm, leading him to where he and Bahorel had been stationed. The silence that followed was only broken by the teacher nodding at Joly, who got up to say his piece.

"…I'm an electrician, who is, ah…" Rolling his eyes with a little, sheepish smile of defeat, the dark haired student finished his sentence. "I'm sterile."

When no hands went up straight away, he moved to join Jehan when Bossuet suddenly spoke up.

"He's still skilled in something we'll definitely need. There are plenty of guys here, so having one who can't help reproduce isn't that much of a loss."

"If we let in Eponine and Musichetta, that's all the girls in the group and three spaces filled. That's five left, minus Marius and the wildcard. That leaves us with only three spaces left." Came Babet's voice from the back of the group. His contribution came as a slight surprise to Montparnasse – in all honesty he thought he'd fallen asleep.

"That's three spaces that should go to men who aren't shooting blanks. And besides, we've got the wildcard."

"So?" Countered Bossuet, "He knows the exit code. That's all."

"That's not all. How do you think he knows the code?" Pausing for dramatic effect, he continued. "He's the one who built the bunker, or at least got the electrics up and working. That means that it's more than likely he's also got the same know-how as Doctor OCD up there."

The teasing nickname was quickly met with attempted retaliation, though Musichetta was fast enough to pull Bossuet back.

"As much as I hate to agree" Said Combeferre carefully, "It does make sense. What are the chances he'd just know the code for the sake of knowing it?"

Joly met his friend's apologetic glance with one of understanding.

"Anyone else against?"

When the majority of the room put their hands up, Joly went and joined the others who hadn't been so lucky. Swiftly taking his place at the front of the room was Musichetta, who shot Babet a venomous look as she spoke.

"Before I read out my card, I want to clarify something for you"

"Oh Christ, please spare us."

"_Joly _has a name, and he happens to have hypochondria. It isn't the same thing as being afraid of germs, and it isn't the same thing as OCD – which, by the way, isn't something to laugh at either. So, if you're going to insult someone, at least do a bit of reading first. Though, even if you read every picture book in the library, if you try to call him names again, I'll fuck you up so badly the coroner will have a hard time identifying your remains as human. Got it, ass-clown?"

Montparnasse's laughter at his friend was only drowned out by the applause of the others, which came to a close as Musichetta gave a small curtsey, and proceeded to read out her card as planned.

"I'm a classically trained ballet dancer, who is…'has' an IQ of 200. So, not only am I female – something majorly lacking in this sausage fest of a class, but I'm also a treat for the gene pool."

Grantaire was the first to put his hand up, unashamedly grinning in amusement. Even Enjolras had a hard time not smiling at her way with words. Hands followed in quick succession, all received with a bright, triumphant smile from the young lady in question as she took her place with Cosette and Marius in the bunker, giving Joly a small kiss on the head on the way.

Hoping to follow Musichetta, Bossuet clambered to his feet, accidentally tripping on Combeferre's foot as he went, though he managed to catch himself just as fast. Once composed, he opened his card, his expression hopeful.

"I'm an illustrator, which is pretty useless I suppose – but I also have an eidetic memory."

"Photographic memory would be helpful in preserving human history, biology, that sort of thing" Said Combeferre, looking to Enjolras to see where he sat on this particular choice.

"That is true, yes…but that's all he can offer, other than his artistic skill."

"It's not only artistic skill" Bossuet added, turning the blond's attention back to him. "I mean, illustrators, artists, poets – we have a knack of being resourceful, and a creative eye and mind-set is never a bad thing to have around."

Across the room, Jehan took the reference to his rejection with a silent appreciation, the arm around his shoulders giving him a light, encouraging squeeze.

"While all of that is true, we only have four spaces left." Replied Eponine, causing a few members of the class to count how many people they still had to go through; eight. "I'm sorry, but I don't think it's worth the risk. Someone else could have some really practical skill that we won't be able to include if we put you in."

Giving a small bow when he was voted out, Bossuet went to where Joly was moving up to give him a space to sit, despite there being a lot of floor space around them.

Then came Babet's turn. Musichetta and Joly shared an equal look of disdain, but they still listened as he read out his card, scratching at his jaw absently as he did so.

"I'm a professional singer, who also has bipolar disorder."

He was voted out fairly quickly, though whether or not that was due to the group's general dislike of his attitude, or his extra trait, or both, no one could really say. Although Montparnasse couldn't help but feel far cockier as he read out his.

"I'm an actor, who also won the genetic lottery. So, short of me getting shot in the face or falling off a cliff, I'll live to the age of one hundred and three. I'll never get bone disease, brain disease, heart disease, any kind of cancer or generally any sort of common ailment. You all know where to put me"

"Don't be so sure" Enjolras remarked, though this was met with a smug kind of sneer.

"You're trying to repopulate, right? Someone with my genes is something you can't pass up. Plus, I'm an actor; there's your entertainment 'morale' factor shit sorted." With a look towards Jehan, "Sorry Keats, no offence."

After some consideration, it was decided that he was right. He soon joined the others in the bunker, flipping a victorious finger to Babet in the losers section. Claquesous was next, silently making his way to front, though he made sure he was heard from under his hood.

"I'm a veterinarian who also happens to be asexual."

"That's not a lot of help…"

"Asexual doesn't mean I won't have sex for procreation. I still have the equipment and I can assure you all it works. And plus, I have a knowledge of animals, which-"

"Again, is not helpful in the long term." Enjolras interrupted, not losing eye contact with the intense, willowy student at the front. "We're not the only survivors on Earth; I find it hard to believe that you'd be the last remaining vet on the planet. We're running out of spaces, and I don't see how you'd be able to help in a way Combeferre or Feuilly could. I'm voting against."

"Fucks sake…"

"Next?"

"Go on, 'Ferre." Checking that Feuilly didn't mind him going next, Combeferre took his turn.

"I'm a lawyer, who is also fluent in LSF – French sign language."

"That'd be useful if any other survivors were deaf"

"Only if they were from France." Marius pointed out from behind the safety of the bunker doors. "And I'm assuming we're the only bunker in France..? Unless I'm wrong in thinking that?"

"What makes you say that?" Asked the teacher.

"Well, I mean…it's all rather ambiguous – we haven't been led to believe that there are other bunkers anywhere near us, and while that might be wild conjecture, we should entertain that possibility. If we are the only bunker in France, then French sign language won't mean much to a deaf survivor in, say, Sweden or England."

"…It's a bit of a stretch, but…I agree with Marius." Grantaire said at last, looking around to anyone else. After a bit of arguing and weighing the pros and cons, the vote was made; it was close, but Combeferre didn't make the cut.

"Hi all – I'm a chemist, and…um, I think there's been a mistake here?" Feuilly frowned, showing his card to the teacher. "I have two traits."

"Must be a typo. But, continue anyway."

"Okay…well, I'm also trained as a GP, and I also have a degree in electrical engineering."

"That's not too hard of a decision." Said Enjolras, raising his hand as several of the others followed suit.

"No, hang on" Feuilly cut in quickly, holding a hand out for people to wait. "There's only three spaces left, and four people including me. Now, it's obvious both you and Grantaire are getting in – your skills alone as enough to sway us in your favour, regardless of whatever your cards say. But we only have two girls in the bunker right now. Eponine, what does your card say?"

Taking the invitation, Eponine joined him at the front and opened her card.

"I'm a neurosurgeon, who also has a 50% chance of testing positive for Huntington's disease."

The out-voted shared a look between them, as did the students inside the bunker.

"What is that, exactly?" Asked Cosette, though the answer came from an unexpected source.

"It's a neurodegenerative genetic disorder. It messes with your coordination, can lead to psychiatric problems, that kind of shit…Sorry, 'Ponine. I'm voting against." Montparnasse stated firmly.

"How do you know all that?" Asked Cosette, frowning in curiousity.

"Does it matter?" He retorted just as fast. "She's got a chance of having it, which means any kids she has will have that chance as well, even if she tests negative. And if she tests positive, it'll suck for her. Either way, the gene pool's getting cloudy."

And with that, Eponine was out, while Feuilly was voted in. With his medical knowledge making up with their lost surgeon, it was a win-win. Although it was fairly obvious the last two people would get the last two slots, both Grantaire and Enjolras went to the front, opening their cards at the same time.

"I'm a survival expert, who's…gay."

"And I'm a farmer…with a criminal record." Giving Enjolras a smirk, Grantaire added; "Don't worry; I won't let the wildcard shoot you as well."

"That's comforting, Grantaire, thank you."

Sarcastic or not, he still kept his smile on his face as he looked to the others.

"So..? Can we come in?"

"Enjolras, yes – but you, we need to consider. I mean, we have to think about what your record was for."

"Seriously..? 'Ferre, come on – I could have been caught shoplifting for all we know, a record doesn't make me a serial murderer."

"He's right." Enjolras said as he made his way into the bunker. "His skillset is unique to the group, and he's generally trust worthy. We'll have to rely on that."

With the final decision made a few moments later, the teacher gave a loud clap, and a tilt of the head.

"Let round two begin."


	5. The needs of the many

With a mood different than that of the first round, the new group settled into their roles just as quickly. The out-voted all died off soon enough, leaving those in the bunker alone once more. During one of their first nights, while all were generally relaxing and either enjoying each other's company or simply the peace and quiet, the atmosphere was still, and calm.

Cosette and Musichetta sat together away from the others, softly talking about the second lot of cuts they'd had to make from the group, and how the two boys the girl with fortune-teller eyes was closest to had lost out. It was something Cosette could sympathise with; she'd lost Marius in the first turn, and thus tried to be a comfort to her friend as she came to terms with the loss.

In terms of body shape and colouring, the two girls were at opposite ends of the spectrum, what with Cosette's fair complexion, long, sun-kissed hair of gold, and petite frame, while Musichetta lay claim to plump, strong limbs and hair as rich and dark as the earth. That, combined with skin several shades darker than Cosette's, they were certainly both beauties in their own right. The fact that Musichetta had neither of the people she loved with her was only another difference between them.

Across the room, Grantaire sat alone, a biro pen scratching out the beginnings of a portrait into the page of a recently found notebook. However, his eyes were soon drawn to the figure approaching him, though the red shirt made it easy to tell who it was before they'd spoken a word.

"What brings you over to this particular couch, if I may?"

"I'm just checking in with everyone. Making sure they're alright." Taking a seat next to the other student, Enjolras waited patiently for his answer as Grantaire pushed himself out of his slouch.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm good."

"Good."

"…What about you? Has anyone asked you how you are?"

"I'm fine."

The answer came just a little too fast, and sounded just a little too rehearsed, so Grantaire pushed a little more.

"Only…I know you lost Courf' and Combeferre this time around. That must be hard, I know you were close with both of them."

"Yes, well…my friendship with them didn't change the fact that their professions didn't help us in the long run."

"Well, 'Ferre was a lawyer; that was useful in the first round, why not the second?"

"Because in the first round, that was all we had to go on, and in the first round, a knowledge of the law would have been crucial. But now, I had to apply the same argument I did for him as I did Claquesous; he wouldn't have been the only lawyer left alive, I'm sure. And knowing LSF wasn't enough to save him. The same goes for Courfeyrac."

"That makes sense. And for that, you're probably going to get an A in this class."

Leaning back into the sofa cushions, Enjolras raised a brow at Grantaire, who by this point had gone back to his drawing.

"…But?"

"But." He said steadily, not looking up again. "I haven't seen you smile once since you've been in this bunker, this turn or the last."

"Well, according to you, that's why Marius is here."

"You didn't vote for him." Grantaire pointed out, finally glancing up at his companion. "I'm just saying; you were more at ease with Courfeyrac and Combeferre here. Maybe you should have taken that into consideration."

"You're missing the point of the exercise. The point isn't 'how many friends can you fit in the bunker', it's who should be saved in order to better the human race."

"And yet, you saved me."

"You're a farmer. Your skills-"

"My skills are unique to the group, yes – but not to the world. I won't be the only person who can plough a field. Plus, I have a criminal record of some kind – I could be dangerous. And that's just what the card said. Combeferre had two specialized skills, I only had one. So…why save me?"

Enjolras looked at him for some time before answering, choosing his words carefully. He hadn't expected Grantaire to think things through as he had done, and thus, wasn't prepared for the question.

"Would you like me to take into account your personality as well as the card?"

"Fine."

"You're argumentative, and rude at the best of times, and uncooperative. But…you're also very kind, generous, and you're loyal, amongst other things. Those are traits I value in a person. Plus, we let Montparnasse in, and genetic lotto win or not, he's a criminal. Your record is hypothetical, his isn't. It wouldn't have felt right not bringing you in."

The comment wasn't one Grantaire had been expecting at all, and his surprise must have shown on his face, because, for the first time since Musichetta had pitched her card to the group, Enjolras smiled. It was only slight, but it was enough to transform his face completely. He usually seemed so stern and focused, seeing an expression like this was one Grantaire would do his best to ingrain in his memory. Quickly thinking of something else to say, he turned his body round to face the other fully.

"That makes sense, I think…so, what about your 'extra trait'? How does it feel to suddenly be on the other side of the fence?"

Smirking this time, Enjolras accompanied it with a curious frown.

"What makes you think it didn't apply to me anyway?"

Before he could get an answer, Feuilly came into the room, quickly finding Enjolras and jogging over to him.

"Hey, sorry – can I have a word?"

"Sure."

And just like that, Grantaire was alone once more, left to draw his own conclusions about the information he'd just been given. Enjolras didn't hate him, that was good…Enjolras was more than likely gay? That was even better. These thoughts pulled his expression into a shy sort of smile, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he continued with his portrait, which, as of five seconds ago, now had a blond haired, blue eyed identity.

Just outside the doors, Feuilly spoke in a low voice as he explained a new development in their situation.

"The wildcard just told me that we need to start thinking about the whole 'reproduction' issue. He's going to bring it up at some point with the rest of the group, and told me not to tell anyone yet, but I figured it'd be something you'd want to know."

"I appreciate it, but…what's he going to suggest? Cosette isn't going to sleep with anyone but Marius, and while having another woman here is an advantage, we can't make her sleep with anyone if she doesn't want to."

The chemist just shrugged.

"I don't know. He's not going to like that, though – I agree with you one hundred percent, but to him, that's not logic."

"We can talk about it all when he brings it up, but I'm going to make myself clear right now; morality isn't the same as morality, and making either of them be with someone if they don't want it isn't moral. If he fights me on it, I'll fight him right back, and I'll win."

With a soft exhale, Feuilly just nodded, and with that, the conversation was at an end.

The subject wasn't brought up again until the next evening. The group were all in the recreation room, either reading or talking quietly amongst themselves when the wildcard came in. Enjolras caught Feuilly's eye, but gave nothing away as their teacher took a seat.

"I think we all need to talk."

Pages were bookmarked and attention drawn to him, Grantaire being the last to look up as he finished a small detail in his drawing.

"We need to start thinking of how we're going to tackle the 'reproduction' situation-"

"What's to tackle?" Musichetta interrupted, half-smirking. "I think it's pretty straightforward what goes where until what happens"

"That's not what I mean." He replied coolly, glancing to where Cosette's grip on Marius' hand has tightening little by little. "We need to work out the best program to get a pregnancy going as fast as possible."

"I guess you guys had better get on that then" Came Montparnasse's ever-helpful reply, though the colour Marius' face turned only made him chuckle even more. However, the humour wasn't shared by everyone in the room.

"I second that." Musichetta chimed in, narrowing her eyes at their teacher as she got to her feet. "I'm sure we'll have one in no time, knowing these two."

"You're dodging the point. We have six males here; to maximise the chances of conception, both you girl's need-"

"Mm, no – no, we don't need to do anything. I'm a girl, yes, but I'm not a baby factory either. The same goes for Cosette – her and Marius can do what they like, and if they have a kid, great. If I happen to develop feelings for someone here over the next year – great, we can bump uglies and spawn. But until then, I'm not sleeping with anyone-"

"Wasn't that part of your pitch?" The teacher remarked, also getting to his feet. "That you were female, and that you'd help repopulate?"

"Yes, I'm a girl – but I never said I'd do that." She snapped back, eyes alight. "I have the potential to have kids; that doesn't mean I'm going to, not until I want to anyway. That's not how it works."

By now, everyone was on their feet, the mood rapidly spiralling. Stepping closer to the wildcard, Feuilly was an even match with the older male, both in stature and certainty of being correct.

"You need to back off. We've only been in here, what? A day? The girl's will do what they want, and what happens, happens. Or we can take a vote, if you'd prefer?"

"You can vote against me all you like, it doesn't change the fact that I'm right."

Taking another step forward, the chemist maintained eye contact as he lowered his voice. "Yes it does, because you're not."

"This is rich, coming from the man who was willing to give up his place to a surgeon with Huntington's." The teacher retorted, urging Feuilly back with a light push. "You seemed all up for giving her your place simply because she was female."

His answer was accompanied with a push in return, this one more forceful than the last. Whether he meant it or not wasn't clear, but Feuilly was very strong for his age – any kind of physical situation was generally one he had the upper hand in.

"That doesn't mean I'm all for forcing girls to sleep with people they don't want to-"

"Stop it, both of you" A hand was placed on both of their chests, Marius glancing from one to the other, before eventually settling on the teacher.

"I think you should leave, Sir."

After a long pause, the older man eventually backed off, regarding them all with a look of pure condescension as he headed towards the door, stopping only once to turn back and have the last word.

"You all remember when the poet died? That was thinking with logic, and not with emotions. You're all doing the exact opposite now; this is illogical, and you all know it."

And with that, he was gone, leaving the group in the midst of a stunned silence. Hypothetical or not, the scene that had just unfolded left a bad taste in their mouths, and an uneasiness in their minds. It was a situation easy to remedy on paper, but none had actually put any thought into the fact that the reproduction had to be consensual. Or at least, it had to be if they wanted to preserve any sense of human morality after the world had come to an end.


	6. Lapse in logic

It wasn't until later that night that Feuilly was addressed again. Musichetta eventually found him in the bunker's gym, where he was running almost at full pelt, each foot hitting the treadmill with almost painful 'thuds'. Only when the dancer had wandered into his eye line did he slow the machine down to a stop, taking a moment to take a few deep breaths before climbing off the machine.

"What's up..?" He asked, his normally rough voice softened by his quick breathing.

"It's pretty late to be in here, isn't it?" She said lightly, pulling her thick hair back into a bun as she nodded towards the clock on the wall. "It's better to stretch before bed rather than do anything cardio-heavy"

"Is that right? I'll have to bear that in mind for the future then." The chemist smiled in return, patting his face and neck with a small towel. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I just wanted to thank you, for earlier. I appreciated you backing me up."

"No need to thank me; I think he was the only one on a different page with that topic. I know Enjolras didn't agree with him – if I hadn't stepped up, he would have."

"Well, yeah – but it's nice to see someone else take charge now and again. I mean, I know I don't hang around you guys much, but he seems to like being the decision maker."

Frowning a little as he considered her point, eventually Feuilly shook his head gently.

"He's the one who makes the final call usually, yeah – but we let him, because he has good instinct. He's reliable, and he's fair. Hell, I couldn't do what he does – organizing protests and rallies and all that; I mean, he does have a tendency to talk about some things he doesn't have a lot of practical experience with, but regardless, I'm happy to follow him. He's a good guy. Kind of serious, but…he's a good one."

"You know him better than I do –sorry, what I said probably sounded-"

"It's cool, don't worry. I know what you were saying."

She left soon after that, her visit leaving the chemist in a better mood than before.

Meanwhile, wandering the halls on the other side of the bunker was the resident farmer. Like most of the others, he still hadn't adapted to sleeping in one room with so many people, and so preferred to wait until he was too tired to do anything but sleep before heading back to the dormitory. The artificial garden had a nice, relaxing feel to it, and so that was where he headed, thankful when he found the place deserted. In the centre of two small, circular stone benches was miniature fountain, the perfect finishing touch to this part of the bunker; filled with a soft, blue light, the walls had projections of an actual garden playing on them, only starting once motion detectors triggered them. The occasional sound of bird song or the wind in leaves played through hidden speakers, and strangely, it did wonders for alleviating the cabin fever. All you had to do was close your eyes, let your mind wander, and allow your imagination to take you back to a time before the apocalypse happened.

"Oh – sorry"

His eyes startling open, Grantaire leant up from his resting place against the wall to see Enjolras stood in the doorway, glad in his set of plain, grey pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt, with one bare foot on the step and one in the garden.

"I didn't think anyone else was awake"

"That's fine. You can come in, join me."

Accepting the invitation with a nod, he made his way in, goose bumps shooting across his skin in a rash as the artificial breeze swept through the space.

"Can't you sleep..?"

Hesitating before answering, he eventually shook his head.

"…No. I don't sleep well here."

"In the bunker..? Why?"

"Lots of reasons. I can only sleep if I have privacy, which I don't here."

"That's fair enough…" His sentence trailed as Grantaire looked to the survivalist, whose fingers were rubbing fatigue from his eyes and moving through his mop of blond curls, his elbows resting on his knees.

"What other reasons were there?"

The other sighed heavily as he sat up and looked at his companion, weighing whether or not he should tell him much else.

"…I suffer nightmares. Night terrors, whatever you want to call them. Normally I'm fine and they're rare, but what with the world being levelled by atomic warfare and me having to vote which of our friends die and which live…I suppose the stress is making them flare up again. I don't want to wake anyone else up with them, so I normally end up on the sofa. Or I just don't sleep for more than a few hours."

The revelation seemed to surprise Grantaire, which only made Enjolras feel more embarrassed.

"It's stupid, I know – I shouldn't have told you."

"No, it's not – I just never knew that. You don't really tell people much about yourself so…"

"Because there isn't much of a need to. What would you do with information about me?"

"You make it sound like I'd sell it to the CIA" Grantaire laughed, "I'd just remember it, I don't know…I'd like to know more, if you're willing to share."

After some consideration, finally Enjolras caved, holding his hands up briefly in surrender.

"Alright. Fine – but only if you tell me something about yourself as well. We can alternate."

"Like '20 questions'? Sounds good to me. Okay, let's see…do you have any siblings?"

"No. What about you?"

"Yeah, I have an older sister. Well, had, I guess, given the bombs?" Shaking his head, Grantaire shook off the sudden realization that none of them would have any family left to speak of now, instead trying to think of another question.

"Do you prefer tea or coffee?"

"Tea. Do you like how you look?"

"Going in the deep end there…" With a shrug, Grantaire chuckled a little awkwardly. "I don't know…maybe? I don't think I'm any special, no. What made you want to take philosophy?"

"I've always enjoyed taking classes that really make me think. Plus, Combeferre recommended it to me, told me I'd find 'sufficient time to argue in a healthy way'."

The light laugh that followed was shared by both boys, though it ended prematurely as they were both reminded of the gentle-hearted friend they'd lost this turn. Looking back up at Grantaire, Enjolras tried to think of another question to ask him.

"What's your favourite kind of music?"

"Alternative rock, or indie rock. But I don't mind other genres particularly." Leaning forward, Grantaire gave him a curious look. "But that's not what you want to ask me. And I don't want to ask you what you favourite colour is, either. I mean, its stuff we want to know, but it's not what we want to ask."

"What do you mean?"

"Treat each question like you're filling a slot for another bunker. You only have ten questions before you've hit your limit; do you really want to waste each slot by asking me stuff I'd write in an online profile?"

It was an interesting way of putting it, and it certainly made Enjolras think about what his next question should be. After some thought, the brunette broke the tranquil quiet with his next turn.

"If you had to lose one of your senses, what would it be?"

"I suppose…" he began, picking through his options with precision, narrowing them down until he singled one out. "My sense of smell."

"Interesting choice." He replied with half a smile. "Your turn."

"Alright…if you had to be stuck on an island – or maybe, in a bunker - for the rest of your life with only one other person, who would it be?"

Dark-circled eyes narrowed ever so slightly as his smirk wavered for a split second.

"I think you already know the answer to that, Enjolras."

"I don't think I do."

"Who do you think I'll say?"

He honestly had no idea. Perhaps it was a bad thing that he didn't know more about some of the members of their group, perhaps it didn't matter; but he could say in that moment that when it came to general knowledge about Grantaire, compared to Courfeyrac or Combeferre, he felt he was seriously lacking.

"I don't know, really."

"Honestly? I'd probab-"

His sentence was cut short by the sounds of raised voices, which quickly turned into yells, from elsewhere in the bunker. Glancing at one another, both students were on their feet in a second, hurrying towards the source of the noise. By now the others had been woken up and were spilling out of the dormitory, all equally confused and groggy from sleep as each other.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know - come on."

Making their way towards the front of the bunker, they were suddenly cut off by their teacher coming out of one of the side corridors, gracing them all with only a faint look of surprise – as if he hadn't expected the shouting to wake them – as he continued on his way. For a few seconds, the group just stood in place, confused as to what was happening.

It wasn't until Feuilly followed a moment later, haphazardly grabbing at someone's – anyone's – arm to make them follow him, his voice sharp but desperate.

"We need to stop him – Enjolras, we need to stop him."

"What's going on?"

"He's opening them – he's opening the doors."


	7. I saw him once

"What're you doing?"

With his hand hovering over the keypad, the wildcard slowly turned to face the group that he was a mere five digit code away from sending to their deaths. The scene was almost grotesquely picturesque, with the wildcard framed by the horrific image of the outside world – burning and toxic and shades of black that had never existed before now. Truly a terrible sight, but still only a sight to those safely behind the bunker doors. Enjolras was the closest to him, but even then he was some distance away, afraid that any more proximity to each other would cause the doors to open, code or not.

"This isn't logical"

"And neither is how you're all handling this exercise. When we entered this round, you all knew we were stepping things up. The priority in this situation is repopulation, and hopefully with the genes of the people you cherry picked from the jaws of death to ensure the human race's survival. But then, 'philosophy isn't morality', is it?"

"No. It's not." With another, cautious step forward, Enjolras motioned away from the doors. "Come on. Come away from there, we can talk this over – you're talking about a permanent solution to a temporary problem."

"There's nothing to talk about." The wildcard replied evenly, looking pointedly at the girls. "I apologize for being so crass before, but that doesn't change a thing; desperate times call for desperate measures, and in a situation such as this, you sometimes have to put personal preference aside for the greater good."

"Utilitarianism isn't the only way to go about things." Cosette said, her voice fearful but firm.

"Do you know why women will always be favoured over men in times like this? Why they were the first to be given spaces in lifeboats if a ship sank? It's because we're trained by evolution to preserve our species. Child rearing becomes the most important job in the apocalypse, so when I saw you both being voted in this time, I assumed it was because you were all thinking practically. Logically."

Nobody had an answer, or at least, not one that came fast enough. What happened next went frame by frame. Four out of the five digits were entered, and with a sickening '_crack_', the wildcard's head was smashed into the door.

Again. And again. And again.

And when he fell to the floor, if it wasn't for two of the students pulling Montparnasse off of him, the attack probably would have continued. For the next dreadful few minutes, all were too stunned to do anything. Freeing himself from Marius and Grantaire's grasp without much struggle, the dark eyed criminal pushed a hand through his hair and took a breath as he cast a look around at his peers' expressions.

"He's not dead, so you can all stop gawping like that. It had to be done."

"You could have killed him" Came one reply, the shock of what had happened and what had nearly happened still apparent on Marius' face.

"But I didn't."

"That's hardly the point!" Enjolras added, looking from the unconscious man to one who'd put him in that state, to which he simply rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

"I suppose you're right. Next time someone is about to wipe you all out via volcanic lava and deadly gas, I'll be sure to let it happen. God forbid the man get a concussion instead of killing us all." He replied dryly, the sarcasm not lost on anyone in the group – but, few of them could argue his logic. With that, he made his way back to the dorm, and falling asleep in his still-warm bed without much trouble.

The wildcard was carried carefully to one of the sofas, and after Feuilly had checked him over, he opted to stay with him until he woke up, with Marius offering to keep him company in the interim.

On his way back to the artificial garden, Grantaire heard someone following after him, though he didn't need to turn to know who it was. With a small, private smile, he let Enjolras come with him, neither uttering a word until they were sat back on their own respective benches. For some time, neither said anything; they'd both come so close to dying for the second time, and yet, the atmosphere wasn't one of fear or anxiety. After around ten minutes of letting himself ease back into the tranquil mood the room offered, Grantaire spoke, prompting Enjolras to let his eyes open.

"Do the others know?"

"Know what?"

When he just raised his brows at him and smirked softly, the blond realized what he meant, smiling himself in return.

"Ah…that. Combeferre does, so does Courfeyrac. But it's not common knowledge, if that's what you meant."

"Why have you not told anyone else?"

Turning his palms skyward, he fixed Grantaire with an earnest expression. "Honestly? Because I don't see what difference it'd make. It's only a small part of who I am, and why should anyone care anyway? Unless people feel like telling me, I don't make it a point to wonder about their sexual orientations. I can't imagine doing the same for me is too entertaining."

"That's true, and it's fair enough."

"It is. Why? Do you tell every person you meet?"

"…Touché."

Both boys laughed, lightly and under their breath, the last of their energy beginning to fade gradually. Neither knew was time it was, not that it mattered much; it wasn't as if their needed to be up and awake for anything the next day. Shifting a few inches closer while his companion's flickered closed again, Enjolras spoke again, his tone softer than before. This wasn't a side of him Grantaire was accustomed to seeing or being around – this wasn't a side of the authoritative, impassioned future leader they had all learned to gravitate to that was seen often, and yet, it was a side that Grantaire made sure to remember.

"You never answered my question. Who you'd choose to stay with for the rest of your life in a bunker."

Ah, yes. He'd nearly forgotten about '20 questions'. Sighing deeply, Grantaire rubbed at his eyes before motioning at the blond vaguely. The next few questions were asked through raised, surprised brows and sincere nods.

"I've heard you say more than once that being stuck anywhere with me would be like vacationing the fifth layer of Hell – you'll have to forgive me for being sceptical."

"I say a lot of things - stupid things, for the most part. I say even less of anything of substance where you're concerned, so…I wouldn't take what you've heard seriously…"

Giving himself a moment to process what he thought he was being told, Enjolras nodded slowly, leaning back against the wall.

"…Why me?"

"Don't make me answer that…" Grantaire shook his head, his mouth turned up into a smile, though the nervous panic in his eyes would have been hard to miss. "I have a feeling I've already embarrassed myself enough for one night."

"It wasn't my intention to embarrass you." Enjolras said honestly, despite his curiosity only growing by the second. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to know more, though…most of the time when we talk, you're either making fun of me or telling me to lighten up."

"And you're…well, probably doing the same, to be fair."

"I don't make fun of you."

"Okay true. But I've heard you call me a number of things in the past." Holding up a hand to quell the oncoming barrage of questions, the farmer finally managed to look at Enjolras properly.

"It doesn't matter – you're usually right anyway. The point is-"

"I'm sorry."

"…Thanks, but I wasn't expecting an apology. I was just saying, the point is – I say stupid things, things I don't always mean…but, it's always the stuff I want to say that is the hardest to put across. And I probably worded that terribly…"

"No, I understand."

Pushing to his feet, Enjolras didn't leave as Grantaire feared he was, but instead he just paced the room. To stretch his legs or what, he wasn't sure. But this was a conversation they may never have again for a long time, and it was one that, while he'd never really prepared himself for, he wanted to have with him so badly.

"In the classroom, then…were you being stupid, when you said that you believe in me?"

"Ah – no. No, that was true."

"I did wonder, I'll admit…Grantaire, I -" Turning on his heel to face the other student, Enjolras took a breath, wanting his next sentence to come off as sincerely as possible.

"I am sorry. You're not the only one guilty of running his mouth without thinking now and then, and evidently you've overheard me on more than one occasion. I don't have an excuse, only that you're one of the most infuriating people I've met, and also one of the most intriguing. On paper, we shouldn't get on-"

"I wasn't aware we really did in practice." Grantaire cut in, tilting his head up at Enjolras. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I do want us to talk more, to get on better. But like you said, I'm infuriating, you are as well, as well as idealistic."

"You're argumentative."

"You're bossy."

"You have a terrible sense of humour."

"My jokes are hilarious; that only proves my next statement – you wouldn't know something funny if it approached you and offered to blacken your boots."

The exchange, despite its content was playful, and left both of them chuckling. The fatigue tugging at their eyes and minds probably had something to do with how much both were smiling, but it was the kind of tiredness both were willing to fight through.

"This certainly wasn't something I saw happening. You remember me telling you that you didn't smile at all in round one? Well, now look at you. Smiling, laughing, and all because of little old me."

"Little old you is easy to talk to. I suppose that's why everyone flocks to you, to hear your anecdotes and stories?"

"Eh, maybe. My knack for story telling is one I take pride in."

Gesturing for Grantaire to move up, Enjolras sat himself at the end of his bench, bringing both feet up so that he could curl into the corner and rest his head back against the wall.

"Go on then."

Frowning curiously, Grantaire scratched at his chin absently. "What?"

"Tell me a story."


	8. Credit where it's due

Montparnasse was, despite habit, the first to wake the next morning. It was early – around seven thirty, but his hunger was what drove him to climb out of bed at long last, long limbs tangled in his covers and normally well-kept hair stuck up at odd angles. He made no special effort to keep his movements quiet as he made his way through the bunker, noticing on his way out of the dorm that five of the beds, not including his own, were empty. One was the wildcard's, one was Marius', and one was Feuilly's, and as far as he knew, they were accounted for on the couch. He was only reminded of the final two names as he passed the 'relaxation room', as it'd been named. The sound of soft snoring was coming from the section of the room that held the day bed – a place constantly lit with a weird, warm light. According to their resident psychiatrist, it was a good way to help alleviate depression in some way or another. In all honesty, he hadn't been listening too closely.

However, he was a little surprised to see both Enjolras and Grantaire fast asleep on the aforementioned piece of furniture; they were far enough apart to make it seem innocent enough at first glance, and yet close enough to make the petty criminal think other motives were in the works. With a casual roll of the eyes, he let the door close on its own as he continued on his way to the kitchen. However, the click of the door shutting stirred both boys in their sleep, and on instinct, made Enjolras curl a little closer to his companion.

Once he had a mug of coffee in hand and something that passed for a plate of eggs, he went through to the sitting room area, sitting down with as little grace as could be expected from one who' just woken up. Whenever people are described as looking peaceful or beautiful when they sleep, Montparnasse had always called bullshit – and moment's like this proved him right. Marius could easily have passed for a sedated Labrador with the way he slept, what with his mouth hanging open and a steady stream of drool happily staining one unfortunate sofa cushion. Feuilly just looked strangely angry and confused, like he was being fired in a vivid dream world where the economy was just as poor as it was in real life. And then the actor's attention was drawn to the wildcard. The man he'd very cleanly knocked out several hours before. Something about him was…amiss, for lack of a better word. While his keepers were both breathing slowly and heavily, the oldest of the group lay totally still. Narrowing his eyes briefly, he took another mouthful of coffee and finished his breakfast in good time, and only then did he pull his feet off the coffee table and put his dishes in the sink.

As he passed back through the room, he casually wandered behind the sofa where the wildcard lay, Montparnasse glanced at both Feuilly and Marius as he paused to a stop, leaning over carefully and holding a hand a few centimetres away from the wildcard's nose and mouth.

Nothing.

He then proceeded to press his index and middle fingers to the man's throat.

Nothing.

Well this was going to be a headache and a half. Going around to Feuilly's part of the couch, he gave him a hard, sharp tap to the collarbone to wake him – oddly enough, it worked the first time around, though the chemist did not seem happy to have been woken up, least of all by who was looking down at him.

"What?" He groaned, keeping his voice low.

Montparnasse did not extend his bunker-mates the same courtesy. "You may want to check your patient; he's having a hard time being alive."

Once he realized what the actor had said, Feuilly sat bolt upright, and was at the wildcard's side in a second. Pressing two fingers to his wrist, then his throat, it was his cursing that finally woke up Marius. He was filled in on the situation, and soon the girls were woken up as well. Flicking her eyes over the people collected in the room, Musichetta shrugged at the confused faces of the others as she began to tug her hair out of its plait.

"Enjolras and Grantaire aren't in bed. I thought they were out here."

"Neither of them are..? Then where-"

"I'll get them. Though we may want to consider changing the sheets on the day bed once this has been sorted."

Montparnasse said airily, walking just as casually as he had when checking the vitals of their exit-strategy. Perhaps it had been a little mean spirited, planting idea's and rumour in the minds of his, in his opinion, gullible peers. He didn't know what had happened between the farmer and the survivalist. But he'd seen enough of their fights and heard enough of their banter to make an educated guess.

Knocking loudly on the door, he let himself in without invitation, revelling in the startled way both men half-sat up, mops of blond and brown hair completely askew and eyes still weighted with sleep. Giving them both a moment to adjust to the light of day and the fact there was someone next to them, Montparnasse whistled – a shrill, quick sound from between his teeth – grabbing their attention once more.

"Up and at 'em, gents. You're being summoned."

"What time is it…?" Grantaire asked blearily, collapsing back against his pillow.

With a glance from him back to the slender man stood in the door way, Enjolras quickly came around. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Not much really." Montparnasse shrugged. "The wildcard's just up and died in the night. No big deal."

Back in the classroom, Grantaire couldn't help but protest the new development.

"Wait, wait – what? You're dead? Again? So basically we're all going to die…again."

The teacher just shrugged. "It's a logical result to what Montparnasse chose to do. Repeated blows to the head can cause all manner of internal injuries. That's something he should have thought about before stopping me so abruptly."

"You _were _planning to kill us all off early, bear in mind." Montparnasse said coolly, giving Grantaire a smirk. "Besides, you assume I didn't plan for that?"

"You planned to murder him?" Enjolras muttered, shooting him a cold look. "And to think, Grantaire was the one we were hesitant to let in."

"Hey, he still has a criminal record – maybe he's yet to prove that to you."

"I doubt he'll have the opportunity."

"We're getting off topic, guys." Musichetta cut in, somewhat irritably. "Are we all dead, or not?"

"Oh, come on. You lot have absolutely no faith in me. I've got a plan – a logical one. Just go with it. I promise we won't die."

Looking to their teacher for the final decision, he allowed it, giving Montparnasse the reins as he stepped out of the bunker, and went to join the students who'd been lost their chance to experience the comforts of living through this particular apocalypse.

Back inside the bunker, Montparnasse had returned to the sitting room, followed shortly after by Grantaire and Enjolras. It was apparent that the suggestion the actor had left hanging as he'd left the room had had an impact on how the others seemed to look at the two of them, but Enjolras was quick to turn their focus to the dead man on the sofa.

"How long has he been like that?" He asked, looking to Feuilly for an answer he knew he likely couldn't give.

"It could have been any time from when Marius and I brought him in here, to an hour after that or more. He's pretty cold, though. I'd say a few hours at least."

"So…we have the same problem as before. We're trapped in here." Said Cosette quietly, rubbing the back of her neck gingerly, eyes filled with a weary concern.

"You said you had a plan. So, tell it." Feuilly stated, taking a step towards Montparnasse, who only regarded the semi-threatening movement with a raised brow.

"Calm down, Doctor Banner. I've got this." Addressing the rest of the group, he combed his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it as he explained himself.

"The entry code is only five digits long, and before we very nearly got incinerated, I made sure to check how many numbers he punched in. Once he hit the fourth button, I knocked him out so that he couldn't put in the last and open the doors."

"Alright. You have good timing. But that won't help us when the year comes to an end."

"I remembered what the number sequence was. And so, it won't take us long to find out which is the remaining digit is – come on, we've got between one and nine to figure it out. We're all smart enough to work that out in a minute or two."

When his solution was only met with silence, he pulled an expectant face.

"Oh, and you're welcome."

"No one's thanking you." Enjolras replied sternly, meeting the look of resentful disbelief with a frown of his own.

"You should be. You ungrateful prick's would have lost the round hours ago if it wasn't for me."

"He's right, Enjolras." Came Marius' contribution to the conversation, though Montparnasse didn't seem bothered about having back up or not. Though before he – or anyone - could give him the thanks he deserved, the actor just shrugged, and went to leave the room.

"Whatever. Next time, I'll let you take the spotlight, Blondie. I know how much it pains you to have the likes of me steal it away for a second or two."

And with that, there were six. Giving the wildcard's body another once-over, Grantaire pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the tiredness that only a few hours' sleep had caused. He wouldn't have changed a thing about the small hours of the morning he'd spent in deep conversation with Enjolras, but he hadn't expected to be awake so soon after crashing out next to him.

"We need to deal with him…"

"But how? We can't dump him outside, we can't bury him anywhere, or burn him."

"Look…we could all use a few more hours sleep. Feuilly, help me move him. We can put him in the utility room until we can figure out what to do with him."

"Why in there..?"

"It's cold, for one. And it's the furthest room away from anywhere communal. He won't be in the way."

Accepting the task, Feuilly just nodded, and waited for Grantaire to finish talking to their unofficial leader.

"Do you need a hand?"

"…No, we should be fine."

Keeping his voice low, he tried to read Enjolras' face, trying to see any indication that his next request wouldn't be flat-out rejected.

"Okay, well…I'll be in the other room, if you, you know…wanted to join me again."

Despite the circumstances, and the dead body not more than a few feet away, the blond managed a small, tired smile.

"Sure."


	9. We are the champions

'A few more hours' was easier said than done. With the thought of a dead body being stored on the other side of the bunker, not many members of the group could fall back to sleep as easily as Montparnasse, who was face down in his pillow and completely out of it within minutes. After about forty five minutes he was the only one still fast asleep.

Musichetta and Feuilly both passed their time in the gym, with him running and her doing some kind of inhuman stretching. It wasn't long before she noticed the slightly bewildered look on his face, and with a grin, ushered him over, offering to teach him some of the more basic yoga poses she could think of. He was something of a big guy – not in width but in build – and while he was strong, watching him gracelessly stumble again and again was just a little bit funny to her. Helping to steady him, she gradually relinquished her grip on him until he could balance unaided.

"There we go! What did I say? Easy!"

"Yeah, yeah – do I get a medal?"

"Mm, no…sorry – You do get to teach all your buddies at the ring though. Imagine that lot taking a yoga class…"

"You saying we couldn't?" He asked, quirking a playful brow at her as his balance began to waver. Within seconds, he had to quickly catch himself, stumbling to the side yet again.

"I'm saying it'd be mildly hilarious." She replied with a smile.

"Hey – can I ask, what do you make of him? Montparnasse?"

"I know, if he's telling the truth, then he saved all our lives. But he doesn't really help anyone's image of him. I mean, he hasn't done anything to really irritate anyone, but….I don't know, he just makes me uneasy."

"I see what you're saying. I guess we have to wait until the end of the year to find out either way though."

"I guess so."

X

Grantaire had already begun to fall back to sleep when Enjolras returned to the relaxation room, doing his best to be quiet as he padded back to the bed. Though when he didn't feel him lie down, Grantaire opened his eyes just enough to look up at him.

"You okay…?"

"No." he answered, almost in a whisper as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, trying in vain to blink away the ache only a few hours of sleep caused.

"Want to talk?"

"It's fine…you're tired, go back to sleep."

"You're tired too." Sitting up, Grantaire pulled at one of the lighter blankets, draping it lazily around Enjolras' shoulders. Appreciative of the gesture, Enjolras tugged it further down, and filled his fists with its corners as he rested back against the wall. Mirroring his movements, Grantaire watched him closely, ready to say something else before the blond beat him to it.

"I want to believe we're going to live this time around; I was the one who encouraged us to leave the wildcard out before, and so it was mainly me responsible for us losing last time-"

"You know that's not on you. We all voted."

"I argued against him." He said steadily, letting his eyes wander up towards the warm, pale light above them. "And now that our lives are reliant entirely on Montparnasse being right, about him knowing exactly what numbers are in the code and being able to remember them…waiting for months on end to find that out is going to drive me mad. And now we have a dead body to worry about as well…"

"I know you'll never be friends necessarily, but maybe this time you should give him the benefit of the doubt? He looked like he was telling the truth."

"He's a good liar, Grantaire. If it meant him being the centre of attention, even for a little while, don't you think he'd lead us all on? After all, we have no way of testing if he's right or not, not for a long time yet."

"Well…the way I see it, we either live until the end of the year and we lose another round, or he's right and we live longer. Either way, thinking about it too much now will drive you mad."

Turning his head to the side, Enjolras looked at his companion, trying to see if he really believed what he was saying. Recognizing the look, Grantaire just gave him a big smile in return and a shrug.

"If you want I can tell you horrible jokes until the year's up – that way you'll be so busy wanting to throttle me, you won't have time to be suspicious of him."

"Please don't…"

"How does Jesus make tea?"

"Grantaire-"

"Hebrews it."

That one got the tiniest of smiles, though Enjolras was doing his best to repress it.

"Why shouldn't you trust atoms?"

Opening his mouth to protest, with another look at Grantaire's eager, equally exhausted face, Enjolras just shrugged, wincing with a groan when he got his answer.

"They make up everything! Okay, okay – how do you know that turquoise is the best colour?"

"I don't know."

"It's cyan-tifically proven"

"Grantaire, that was awful-"

"How did Jesus pay for our sins?"

"What is it with you and Jesus?"

"Praypal. And hey, me and the big man, we've got a good thing going."

Happy to see him laughing again, Grantaire shifted around so that he was sat crosslegged, slouched under his own blanket, secretly relieved when Enjolras didn't pull his legs away in return.

"See..? It's working."

"Only because I'm tired, and your jokes are terrible. Can I ask though, are you religious at all?"

"Me? Nah, never given it much thought – but if it means making you smile like that again, I'll happily poke fun at any deity."

While the comment itself sounded far sweeter spoken out loud, it did make Enjolras go a very subtle shade of pink. It was easy to miss, but Grantaire wanted to think he'd been lucky enough to see it, soon coming out with more jokes, and easing them both into a similar mood as the night before had offered.

"What do you call a bee that eats other bees?"

"I don't know."

"Hannibal Nectar."

"Oh Christ…"

X

"Do you believe him?"

Looking up from his book, Marius replaced the bookmark between the pages and closed it carefully, giving his partner a small smile, hoping it came across as reassuring as he meant it to.

"I think so. I don't see why he'd lie – I mean, I know he doesn't have the best track record, but this is about his life as much as mine or yours."

With an unsure nod, Cosette stirred her coffee "That's what I thought…"

"But?"

"…I don't know. I just have a bad feeling about all of it."

"We're in the middle of a global volcanic cataclysm – I'd be impressed if anyone didn't have a bad feeling about it."

Giving him a tiny smile, she made her way over to the sofa, placing her mug down gently and taking her usual place next to him, slotting into the crook of his body as easily as the last two pieces of a puzzle.

"I want to believe him, really. It's just the constant nagging voice in my head, 'what if he's just leading us all on' – what if we get to the end of the year and he turns round and admits he was lying the whole time? You have to admit that's something he'd do. After all, none of us particularly get on with him that well."

"It's a possibility, but like I said – it'd be his life on the line as well. And he looked genuinely annoyed that no one was thanking him."

"Or annoyed because no one really seemed to believe him straight away. Then again, I suppose he dug his own grave on that one…"

"He did indeed." Pressing an affectionate kiss to Cosette's forehead, Marius wrapped an arm around her, letting her lace their fingers together, her hand's startlingly cold compared to his.

"It'll be alright. If he's lying, then we lose another round. And if that happens, at least we're together this time."

By the time midday had rolled around, Grantaire was the last one to wake up. This time, he was alone, though the space where Enjolras had been was still warm. Despite there being no one around to see it, he smiled- widely and unabashedly. Other than what it said on their cards, they were in the bunker as they were in real life; and even if Enjolras being nicer to him was only a result of the card he'd been given, Grantaire was certainly ready to enjoy it while it lasted.

The 'year' passed by quickly, and without any major incident. And when it came to the moment that had sat brooding at the back of their minds for the previous twelve months, as it turned out, Montparnasse had been truthful. He had a better memory than they'd first given him credit for – something he thanked his new found profession for, what with having to remember lines and all – and just in time for the lesson to come to an end, the survivors left the bunker, and consequently won the round.

Heading round to the other side of the desk-wall to the sound of applause from their classmates, they all gave a theatrical bow as the teacher got to his feet.

"While things didn't quite go as I'd expected, I'll give you this; you all managed to live the year. Congratulations."

"Is it weird that I want to go again?"

Looking down at where Courfeyrac was sat, he looked to the others, hoping someone agreed with him.

"I'm just saying, this was a seriously cool way to spend a lesson – it got kind of serious at times, but it's an awesome way to make you think, you know? I think we should go again. I mean, we don't have anywhere to be"

"It's the last day of the year, and you want to stay behind?" Babet asked, shooting the other young man a questioning look.

"That's what I'm saying, yeah. I mean, come on – raise your hand if you haven't enjoyed this."

Only one actually put their hand up; it was Claquesous, who didn't exactly look impressed. It was fair enough – he'd been the only one who hadn't gotten to take part so far, so for him it'd been just over an hour of sitting around watching his classmates decide each other's fates, and occasionally vote him out of the equation.

"It's completely up to you lot." The teacher said easily, helping Combeferre to his feet, and then Jehan. "I'm in no rush to go home particularly, though I'll have to leave you in a while for a meeting. If none of you have plans, you're all welcome to stay for another hour or two, run through some scenarios by yourselves until I get back."

With a glance at Enjolras, Grantaire clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

"Well, I'm definitely game. Come on – this is the last time we're all going to be in this classroom, the last time we're here until graduation. I say we do it. And maybe in the next round we can find room for an asexual veterinarian"

The jibe was met with a moody snarl, but a nudge from Montparnasse eventually made him reconsider the point.

"Okay, fuck you – if I end up staying here, we're all getting new cards. I'm not getting stuck with some crap job next time."

"Fine, fine. We give anyone who wants a new card a new set to pick from."

With Claquesous placated, they all agreed a short break was needed before the third round began.


	10. Loyal to principles

Some of the students went to get drinks, others left to go to the bathroom, and the others all helped to open any other windows that would allow it. Combeferre spoke to their teacher, and a minute later had begun the task of coming up with new traits and new professions to put in a box each for those who wanted to pull new cards. The sight of the teacher bringing out a small bag of black and yellow balls, however, had the young man intrigued, although when he asked about them he was simply told to 'wait and see'.

Keeping a hand up to steady him, Enjolras watched as Grantaire strained to get the last one of the windows open, eventually succeeding and jumping down from the chair.

"Careful…"

"Ah, I'm fine – I'm pretty indestructible."

Making sure they were out of earshot of the others, Grantaire gently took Enjolras' arm and lead him a few feet further away, keeping his voice low and his expression hopeful.

"Can we talk?"

"Weren't we anyway?"

"I mean, about…what's going on. Back in that round were you just playing up to your card? If you were then that's totally fine, I mean no harm done or anything, I was just wondering-"

"Do you think I was playing up to it?" Enjolras asked, folding his arms loosely across his front. In reply, Grantaire could only shrug.

"I don't know – I liked talking to you, and getting to know you better. I think we can get on well, and I know I can make you laugh…But I also don't want to think that this was completely one sided. Well, more so than usual anyway."

"What are you actually asking me, Grantaire?"

Scratching at the back of his neck, with his pulse pounding and his mouth suddenly very dry, Grantaire went to speak, when he was interrupted by the other's coming back into the room, all engrossed in their own loud, merry conversation. Taking a swig of his drink, Courfeyrac held out his arms and proclaimed to the world – or at least, to the room;

"Alrighty, who's ready for the next reaping?" to which the general answer was a heat-weary 'Me'. Turning from him back to Grantaire, Enjolras pressed him for an answer, though it was obvious the interruption had meant any nerve he'd built up had long since retreated. Giving the best smile he could, Grantaire shook his head, dark curls gently bouncing from side to side.

"It's fine, don't worry about it"

"No, tell me." Catching his arm, Enjolras all but forced the other to stop and look at him. His expression had gone from one of hope to one of sudden desperation. "What were you going to say? Tell me, I want to know."

"Enjolras, you know what I was going to tell you…and I know what your answer would be."

"No, I don't-"

"You do. And unless you're going to turn round and tell me 'yes', then please don't make me embarrass myself."

Frowning with a frustrated sigh, Enjolras released his arm and left him without a word, re-joining the group as the teacher introduced the two new boxes.

"This has new job cards, and these are the new traits. If you want to change either one of your cards or both, come up one at a time and read them out."

The first was Courfeyrac, who'd decided he wanted a new trait – evidently, 'compulsive liar' hadn't worked too well in his favour.

"Okay, I'm a mechanic who…is a hoarder. Really? Who wrote these?"

Giving his friend a smirk, Combeferre held up his hands.

"Hey, I only had a short amount of time to think of things, so sue me."

"I would take you up on that if you weren't the only Lawyer left in France." Courfeyrac replied sulkily, though he still returned to sit at Combeferre's feet, lifting an arm to make room for Jehan to lean against him. Up next was Joly, who dipped a hand into both boxes.

The look on his face after reading his new profession was absolutely priceless.

"What is it?"

"What are you?"

"…I'm a stripper."

As predicted, the room dissolved into a fit of immature giggles, with both Musichetta and Bossuet laughing the hardest. Sitting up, Montparnasse yelled over the din;

"Go on, Magic Mike – read us your other card!"

By this point, Joly had gone bright scarlet, but he still unfolded his trait card all the same.

"I'm…"

As the laughter died down, everyone gradually gave him their attention once more, though the sudden smug look on his face piqued their interest twice as fast.

"Well…?"

"I'm a stripper, with a PhD in sustainable development."

This time the cheers weren't so much at his expense, and he couldn't help but feel both bewildered and amused at his new set of cards. Clapping him on the back, Bossuet got up next and took two new cards for himself. While he'd liked being an illustrator with an eidetic memory, it hadn't served him very well in the face of an apocalypse.

"I'm a…midwife, who also…is a popular blogger online."

"We'll need someone who can deliver babies, or at the very least, we'll need a medical professional. You've got my vote." Grantaire called out, giving his friend a grin in support.

"Are we voting now..?"

"Not yet." The teacher replied, motioning for the next person to come up. Musichetta chose two cards as well, unfolding them both simultaneously and reading them out with clear cut confidence.

"I'm a police officer, who also moonlights as a champion poker player."

Only four other students went up after that;

Opening her new trait, Eponine wasn't so enthused. "I'm a neurosurgeon who is also a political activist."

"Okay, I'm now a teacher, and I'm a brilliant cook." He didn't know if it'd get him votes, but Montparnasse still seemed pretty happy with himself as he was replaced at the front by his friend.

"I'm a builder, with a degree in plumbing."

The general agreement that he'd be voted in next gave Claquesous an odd sense of accomplishment, though it was likely he wouldn't hear the end of it from the other two. Muttering something to him as they passed each other, Babet smirked as he earned himself a whack to the arm, grabbing out two new cards and unfolding them both untidily and impatiently.

"Alright, I'm a…carpenter! That's useful as fuck and you're all voting me in, and I'm also…autistic. Wonderful."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that." Bahorel chimed, his tone light and agreeable, and yet was delivered in a way that urged the other student not to say anything else on the matter. Waiting until the front space was his, he reached for another trait, giving everyone a 'wait for it' sort of look before reading his new card.

"Well, the good news is I don't have chlamydia anymore."

"What do you have now?"

"Parkinson's disease." With a resigned shrug, he took the news well, sinking back into his seat and looking at Jehan expectantly a moment later. In fact, most of them seemed to be. Looking around in turn, the freckled poet smiled a little in confusion.

"What..?"

"Aren't you going up to change cards?"

"Oh, no. No, I'm good."

"You're a gay poet. No offence Prouvaire, but do you really like dying that much?" Asked Montparnasse, meeting the redhead's look of disdain with a wickedly handsome smile. "Go on, change cards – I wouldn't mind going a round with you in the bunker."

"Okay, not only does that sound unimaginably creepy, but also…no. If this was the end of the world, we wouldn't get a second chance. We'd be stuck with whatever jobs we'll have in the future, and if this was real…I'd be dead anyway. Unless the people in my bunker valued my knowledge of languages enough to vote me in, I'd want to spend the last few hours of my life being myself instead of desperately wishing I was anything else just so I could live a little longer."

"…God you must be fun at parties."

Before Jehan could retort, the teacher stepped in, raising his voice just a little – just enough to bring everyone's attention back to him as he went to his desk.

"That's a debate for another day, I'm sure. But for this next round, I'm stepping things up a little."

Bringing a medium sized brown bag with him, he shook it absently as he spoke.

"In this bag are thirty ping pong balls, all painted either yellow or black. You're all going to reach in and take one at random, and then you're going to start the next round of votes."

"What do the colours mean?" Combeferre asked as he took his out, turning the black ball in his hands.

"I'll let you know that once you've finished voting." The teacher answered simply, giving the young man a knowing smirk as he made his way around the room. Once everyone had a ball, as planned the voting commenced.

Despite his criminal record, Grantaire was voted in due to him being the only one with a knowledge of farming. With his yellow ball in hand, he saluted to the class before making his way into the bunker. Enjolras followed soon after, along with Bossuet, Musichetta, Montparnasse, Clauquesous, Feuilly, and Babet.

While they talked amongst themselves as the teacher returned the bag to the drawer in his desk, Jehan got to his feet and followed after him.

"Sir? I think I need to draw a new one."

"Why?"

"My ball hasn't been painted, I got the odd one."

"Ah…Hold onto that for a minute. You've just made this rather interesting."

Returning to the group, Jehan sank into his seat, now looking more and more intrigued at what the ping pong balls might mean, and how he'd somehow made things more complicated. Quietening everyone down, the group listened as he set the scene.

"Its origin is unknown, but all we know is that it's claimed millions of lives worldwide. It has spread to every continent, every country, and now, only few months on from the original outbreak, humankind is facing an apocalypse they thought was only possible in your generic comic book or TV show."

One or two of the whole group cottoned on to what he was saying at first, but soon it sunk in and reached the rest of them.

"Outbreak..?" Joly asked, the very idea striking a particular chord of discomfort in him. With a solemn nod, the teacher clarified.

"Ladies, gentlemen…welcome to a viral pandemic unlike anything man's history has ever seen."

The general response was one of anticipation; while it was an overused cliché in disaster movies, it was one that everyone had been wondering about. They'd had natural disasters, nuclear fallout, and now a viral outbreak. This was definitely going to be an interesting round.

"Wait, wait – so what are these for?" Asked Bossuet, holding out his black ball between his fingertips.

"Ah, yes. Everyone in the bunker, if you have a black ball, please step to the right. Yellow people, step to the left."

As it turned out, only Grantaire and Claquesous had picked out yellow balls – the rest of their group all had black.

"Do we get some kind of prize?" Grantaire asked, throwing his into the air with a smirk.

"That depends on your definition of a 'prize'." The teacher replied airily. "Both you and Claquesous are lucky enough to possibly be infected with the virus."

That wiped the excited looks right off all of their faces, with Grantaire and Enjolras exchanging a look between them before the both turned back to the teacher, who was now motioning for Jehan to stand up.

"You've all voted in who you want. But, now you all have a decision to make. Jehan, what colour is yours?"

"White."

Addressing the bunker once more, the teacher slowly cast his gaze to each individual student.

"The gay poet may not have any traits you wanted to preserve before, but how much is he worth if I told you that he's one of the only people on Earth who carry the antibodies?"


	11. Guilty filthy soul

This news took Jehan off guard just as much as the rest of the group, with the slim young man stood outside of the bunker doors, eyes flicking between the teacher and those lucky enough to be safely on the inside. Realizing that they might have to swap him for someone who thought their slot was safe wasn't something Jehan had wanted to do; he'd wanted a round in which the arts were suddenly highest priority – maybe France had been tasked with preserving culture and art in its bunker, and then he could be voted in fairly. But this didn't feel fair. It wasn't. He could see his friends all stealing glances at one another, suddenly trying to decide who wasn't that useful after all. Eventually, Grantaire spoke up as he made his way to the front, although a hand coming out and grabbing his shoulder pulled him to an abrupt halt.

"Look – I've been voted in three times now. I'll give him my place, no big deal-"

"You've been voted in three times because you're the only person who knows about farming. That's a skill that we need."

"There's a possibility I'm infected; taking out one of us lessens the risk, and besides – out of the two of us, Claquesous has two useful skills. Next to mine, it's not a hard choice."

"Yes, it is."

This time it was Enjolras who cut in, moving to join him and Bossuet at the front of the group.

"We'll still need what you know. Even if it means you recording as much as you think is necessary for us to know in case you are infected, if we can't grow food, we can't eat in the long term. Simple."

Casting a look over the rest of the group, each person could see him remembering what their cards were and weighing them up for the hundredth time. Frowning to himself, he settled on Babet, who quickly met the look with one of pure acrimony.

"No way. There's no way you're swapping me with him."

"You're a carpenter. That's the only trade you know and it's the only reason you're here, but you forget we also have a builder here who has two skills. He's more valuable than you, and in light of this new situation, that also makes you less valuable than Jehan."

"A builder who probably has the virus."

"It's worth the risk."

With a roll of the eyes, Montparnasse slid into place next to his friend, holding up his hands in mock negotiation.

"Okay, okay - let's be honest here. You're only singling him out because you don't want to do the same to Grantaire. Your boyfriend only has one skill as well, and as far as finding food goes, you're a survival expert. I'm pretty sure you'd be more than helpful on that front until we found other survivors."

"I don't have the expertise Grantaire has, they're separate fields. I'm useful in the short term, and he's useful in the long term. You need us both. And, despite it being none of your business, he's not my boyfriend."

The last part of his statement was accompanied by him closing the gap between Montparnasse and himself step by step, but it was only returned until they were only a foot or so apart.

"Does it matter? You two looked pretty cosy last round. Can't blame a man for jumping to conclusions."

"Jumping to conclusions is what the ignorant and the shallow do. Remind me – you're just a teacher, yes? And you can cook? Thinking about it, I don't see why we didn't vote Jehan in instead of you on that point alone-"

"I know the exit code." With his signature, devilish smile, Montparnasse eventually backed off, holding out an arm towards the rest of the bunker as if to open the floor to their other options.

Unfortunately for Babet, however, he was soon outvoted yet again. It was decided that as long as they kept Grantaire and Claquesous separate from each other and everyone else, then whichever one was infected would hopefully keep the virus to themselves. And given the new set of circumstances, the teacher allowed for the bunker to be expanded, so that there would be somewhere for the two of them to wait out their year if they both survived it. If either one had the virus, symptoms would likely start to show within a few days – all the group had to do was wait and see, and hope that the possibility of infection was all it was. Begrudgingly, eventually Babet did as he was asked and left, giving Jehan a nasty look as they passed one another.

With the bunker doors closed for the third time, they immediately went about finding the medical bay and making it comfortable enough for the two students. There were three separate rooms, and while they were plain and mind-numbingly clinical, they were better than being sentenced to certain death in the outside world. As he settled into his new surroundings, Grantaire pulled off his hoodie as Enjolras let himself in, rapping his knuckles against the door only when he realized he hadn't been noticed yet.

"I thought you'd appreciate these" Handing over four paperbacks, he gave the room a once over. "How do you like it..?"

"I feel like I'm about to have Hannibal Lecter sedate me and remove my organs. But hey, at least I'll die a well-read man."

"I haven't heard of any of the titles, but I know you tend to get bored easily, so…maybe you'll come out of this appreciating books that much more."

"'If' I come out of this."

"You will. And even if you don't, then…well, that's just how it is."

Pushing the books onto the side counter, Grantaire leaned back against it, nodding at the silent question of whether or not Enjolras could take a seat.

"You sure you want to? The last thing we need is you getting sick as well."

"I can stay for a few minutes."

"Brave man."

After the initial, slightly-awkward few seconds of silence, finally it was broken once more.

"You didn't have to, you know. Argue for me to stay here, I mean. Montparnasse had a point-"

"The only thing Montparnasse has is a penchant for being obnoxious and vain, and the only reason he's here at all is because he knows how to get us out."

"Yes, I gathered that much – but honestly, keeping me here…I don't think it was in everyone's best interests. Not really. I have a fifty-fifty chance of dying in the next few days. So does he." Jabbing a thumb to the far left wall, Grantaire could see already that Enjolras was getting annoyed all over again hearing about it.

"Worst case scenario, we both die and you're down a farmer, a carpenter, and a builder-plumber power hybrid."

"And best case scenario, neither of you die and we win this round. Where are you going with this?"

"I'm just saying, it wasn't like you to look at the best case scenario. I know you can be idealistic, but… It wasn't like you to keep me around. You know what I'm getting at – my cons outweigh my pros at this point."

"Why are you complaining?"

"You know I'm not, I'm just trying to understand your thought process-"

"There's nothing to understand, Grantaire. I think you – your skills – are worth the risk of having you here. That's it, end of."

Dropping the subject for the time being, Grantaire watched the other leave, only opening his mouth to say something else, but the door had closed sharply and loudly before any words could roll off his tongue with any kind of coherency.

X

"So, 'Keats' – you made it after all."

Turning slowly to face the other student in the room, Jehan shrugged his shoulders, stirring his drink and following him with his eyes as he moved further in.

"Apparently so. And please stop calling me that, it makes no sense."

"It makes a little sense."

"How so..?"

"He was a poet, he was a romantic. I figured you'd appreciate that nickname instead of the others."

Ignoring the last part, Jehan continued to watch as the taller man helped himself to a coffee.

"He was also English; something I most certainly am not. I have a feeling John Keats' name is just the only name you know."

"Touché." Pulling a chair out with his foot, he took his seat, burning his tongue rather badly on his drink in the process.

"What would you prefer to be called?"

"My name."

"Okay, not in the mood for questions. But before we stop, tell me, Jehan Prouvaire – how does it feel knowing that a capable workman has now been denied his chance at life because of you? That his slot at survival has been filled by a person whose only real talent is making words rhyme together?"

While his tone was particularly scathing or venomous – it was slightly bored, if anything – his words rubbed Jehan the wrong way. It wasn't even the way he said them, but to give credit where it was due, he could hit raw nerves with expert precision.

"It feels awful, as you might imagine."

"Oh, I'll bet. But then again, I guess every end-of-the-world story needs a damsel, right? Someone who…basically adds nothing to the plot but gives the male heroes something to dream about amidst the angst-fest of their own lives."

"I'm not- okay, no. I'm not going to bother defending myself to you, I didn't ask to be put here. I know you're pissed, I know Babet was your friend – but I've had to die with some of my friends in every other round. I suggest you either let it go or suck it up."

"I'm not saying this for my benefit; everything I just said is written all over your face. Maybe having a go at me for saying them means you'll get over it quicker yourself and stop sulking."

"I wasn't-"

"You're a terrible liar, Jehan Prouvaire. Take it from me, never try to bullshit a bullshitter."

Rolling his eyes, Jehan headed for the door, but not before looking back at Montparnasse, who simply looked back, waiting for whatever 'last word' the other had for him.

"You don't have to use my surname as well. Jehan's fine."


	12. Written in ink

As expected, the first few days in this new bunker were suspenseful and tense. Most conversations were kept quiet and private, as though everyone was concerned about keeping an unknown entity unaware of their presence. Enjolras visited Grantaire and would sit outside his door, talking to him through it, with him sitting only a few inches away on the other side. The longer he went without presenting symptoms, the more cheerful both students became.

The same could have been said for Claquesous if he hadn't reacted so badly to the boredom. Montparnasse kept him company as much as he could, but it wasn't much of a stretch to assume that the cabin fever would have been a hundred times worse when confined to a single room. Knocking on the door haphazardly as he took his place outside, Montparnasse listened for the sound of movement, his reply coming a few seconds later.

"What?"

"It's me."

"Doesn't change my question. What do you want?"

"I figured you'd want someone to talk to, but I can fuck off if you'd prefer –"

"Talk to me when I'm out of here. Which will be when, exactly?"

"Another day or so, if you're completely symptom-free. How're you feeling?"

"It'd better be – and I'm fine. As I keep telling you."

"Don't get pissy with me. If I had my way you would have been out yesterday and Babet would still be here."

"Ah, yeah…how is the life-saving poet? Enjoying his new position as ginger Jesus?"

With a snigger, Montparnasse rested his head against the door.

"He's alright…a bit soft, but he's snarky when he wants to be. Fun to wind up."

Rolling his eyes, Claquesous pushed his hood back to scratch absently at his scalp, letting his eyes close as he tried to shrug off the fatigue pulling at his mind. They didn't talk for much longer; evidently the builder's fuse had gradually been getting shorter and shorter, and Montparnasse hadn't been one stupid enough to get on his bad side more than a few times. Excusing himself, the student pushed himself off of the floor, and tugged at the hem of his shirt as he headed off. On his way back towards the dorm, he ran into none other than the poet himself, who met his eye with an instant look of airy, yet cautious suspicion. The corridor was more than wide enough to let them pass one another without difficulty, and yet they both came to a slow halt a few feet away from one another.

"It's a little late for our young saviour to be going walk-about, don't you think, Prouvaire?"

"I could say the same for you." He replied dryly, moving to walk past him. "I wonder if your parole officer knows you're out."

Quickly traipsing the same way, Montparnasse gave him a smirk, and pushed his hands into his pockets as they sidestepped in unison to the right once more, clearly getting the reaction he wanted when Jehan gave him an annoyed glare.

"Did you want something? Or are you so bored that irritating me is your only solution?"

"A little of both. More so the latter."

"Fantastic. Well can we do this another time? I need to talk to Grantaire, preferably before he falls asleep."

"Oh, really? What're you going to talk about?" Blocking his path once more, "Maybe thank him for volunteering for you? Try and justify your place here by having someone else tell you how happy they are that you got your turn?"

"I don't need to justify anything to anyone, you obnoxious prat. Now let me past."

The fact that his voice was so soft and calm only made the retort that much more surprising – so much so, Montparnasse almost did as he was asked. But, as usual, he opted to see how much he could get away with – how much farther he could push before he got to see Jehan react like that again. It was funny, and also rather endearing, in a strange sort of way. Shortening the distance between them just a bit more, the jailbird widened his smile, but only a little as he spoke once more.

"Oh, you don't know how much I like hearing you call me names. Do it again."

"I would say something like 'I'll do much worse than call you names if you keep this up', but I doubt you'd do much more than laugh at me."

"No, no – see now _that_ I'm excited to see happen. What would you do, hypothetically? Knock me out? Give me a bloody nose, perhaps?"

"I don't need to stoop to your level to make my point clear."

"Oh, go on – _stoop._ I can promise you it's far more fun running in my circles."

"As much fun as a black eye, or a stint in jail, I imagine."

"It's not that bad – besides, I'd keep an eye out for you. And I'm sure you'd look adorable in your mug shot"

"I'm not sure looking 'adorable' is something you should focus on in prison."

"It is if you have a face like yours"

The comment – whether he was actually being flirtatious or just a dick – made Jehan shift his weight a little awkwardly, glancing away for the moment until he managed a reply.

"You have such a way with words..."

Rolling his eyes, now less in irritation and more in weary surrender, Jehan eventually let himself smile – just enough to give Montparnasse a fleeting feeling of victory. After a moment, he stepped to the side, finally letting Jehan pass him. Taking his chance with a short, relieved exhale, he looked back only once as he went on his way. Montparnasse continued on towards the dorm, grinning wickedly to himself. He had no real interest in the poet, but the banter was entertaining enough. Or at least, that's what he'd say if ever he was asked.

Flirting was something he definitely enjoyed, but what made it better was when the other party reciprocated, whether it was just playful or perhaps leading to something more. He'd tried many times with Éponine, and sometimes, if she'd been in a good mood, she'd played along for a while. But it was obvious that he'd be fighting a losing battle – the fact that said battle was to Marius of all people didn't lessen the blow any, but he'd managed to suck it up and deal with it. Life was too short to pine after people, but it was just long enough to flirt and fuck and have fun as was permitted.

Back in the medical bay, Grantaire was close to sleeping when he heard a nearby door open and close, with footsteps making their way towards his door. Pushing himself out of bed, he answered the gentle knock with one of his own.

"Enjolras..?"

"Sorry, just me this time."

"Oh, hey Jehan – I wasn't expecting you. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Nothing's wrong. I actually just wanted to thank you"

Stifling a yawn, Grantaire leaned against the wall as he sank into a crouch, turning his head slightly towards the door as he spoke.

"For what..?"

"For offering to give me your place." Despite this being his plan the entire time, the fact that Montparnasse had not only been right about it, but that he'd mocked him for it, made Jehan feel just a little bit stupid for being here now. "That was brave of you."

"Nah…it was the right thing to do. Besides, you were the only one who stuck to their cards when they could have changed. I think _that_ was pretty brave."

"Maybe…I just thought it made sense. I wasn't trying to prove anything."

"I know you weren't. Regardless, it does prove the fact that you're more intrepid than you give yourself credit for. And hey, between you and me? I would have liked to have a poet in here in the last round anyway."

"I don't think I would have been much help, but I appreciate that."

"Sure you would have – how about I become a bunker builder when we graduate, then I'll make a bunker big enough for thirty. Then we can all get in, no problem, plus any significant others."

Smiling quietly to himself, Jehan pulled his knees up to his chest, the toes of his shoes only just touching the other end of the doorframe.

"That sounds like a much better deal than this…so…this is where Enjolras keeps disappearing to?" He asked, giving the door a knowing look as if Grantaire could see him through it. On the other side, Grantaire played with the toggles on his hoodie while he thought about how to answer.

"I guess it must be…Not to worry though, soon enough I'll be out of here and no one will have to disappear anywhere."

"Can I ask…what's going on with you two? Obviously you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if you do I promise I'll keep it secret. It's just, you're both giving off really mixed signals – plus, we're all very curious." After a pause, "…Did anything happen last round? In the other room?"

"If I'm being honest? I don't know what's going on."

"Have you talked about it?"

"Sort of…but, I don't think it'll go anywhere. Even if he's not just playing up to what his card says, he's…"

"He's…what?"

"…Him. And I'm me."

"Grantaire – unless you're clear with him about what you want, your answer will always be 'no'. And he's obviously quite taken with you, in his own way."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts. Talk to him, get all the cards on the table. If you don't, you'll regret it. Trust me on that." 

As promised, two days later the two students woke up and faced the day that they might be allowed back into the group. As decided by the others, both Feuilly and Bossuet went to check on them, one taking a room each and knocking before letting themselves in. Vitals were checked and double checked, temperatures taken and general examinations undertaken. Both came up clean, and although there was a lingering air of caution surrounding them both as they re-joined the others in the living room, soon enough everyone was far more relaxed. After they'd eaten, they settled in their places on the couches as Musichetta brought out her deck of cards, challenging some of the boys to a game, while the others placed harmless bets on who might win, or they just watched, happy for the distraction. Claquesous and Montparnasse were both more than ready for something vaguely entertaining to do, and despite the foul mood he'd been in since entering the bunker and being quarantined, that quickly changed as he took another look at his hand.

Returning to the room with a mug of tea, Jehan eyed the empty space on the sofa near the poker game, weighing up whether or not he should take it.

"You want in?" Musichetta offered, giving him her usual, inviting smile. "You're welcome to join in."

"Come on, Prouvaire." Montparnasse added, countering their poker champion's expression with his own, challenging smirk. "You can learn a lot about someone by what kind of game they play; I wanna see what you've got to tell. Or what you've got to lose."

Eventually taking the invitation, Jehan settled next to Musichetta and shot Montparnasse a glance as his cards were dealt, his tone delicate but no-nonsense, his words once again giving the raven haired criminal a reason to smile somewhat in surprise.

"If you think I'm going to be the one losing, you're sorely mistaken."

Before long, the game was underway, with Grantaire half watching a few feet away, with the rest of his attention on the notebook in front of him. He'd missed drawing, having something to do with his hands – though when Enjolras leaned on the back of the sofa and muttered a low 'let's talk', the lined pages were abandoned just as fast.

Even when they were out of the room, neither said anything until they were a fair distance from their peers. Grantaire was just enjoying being able to walk around the long, winding corridors again, and Enjolras was glad he'd finally be able to have this conversation. But, of course, the ice had to be broken first.

"I'm glad you're out, finally."

"Me too…" Gently nudging Enjolras with his shoulder as they walked, Grantaire just gave him a playful grin as they went, his expression only brightening when the favour was returned a moment later.

"So…you wanted to talk?"

"Yes, I did." Leading them both into the nearest doorway, Enjolras closed the door softly behind them both. He'd inadvertently taken them both back into the relaxation room, but it was back in the garden that he began to broach the topic once more.

"Before this round started, you were going to tell me something. I want to know what it was."

Evidently, this hadn't been something Grantaire had wanted to talk about, and he wondered if Jehan had maybe spoken to Enjolras separately. Not that it mattered – there wasn't getting out of it again. Perhaps now was the time. Shrugging somewhat helplessly, Grantaire smiled uncertainly as he scratched at the skin around his thumb.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Enjolras. I know what your answer will be, there's no point in me telling you-"

"Do me a favour and stop assuming you know what I'm going to do, especially when I can't judge it for myself yet." Enjolras replied, taking a seat at the end of Grantaire's bench. "Just talk to me. Whatever it is, it concerns me – I have a right to know."

He couldn't look at the blond now, not properly. Part of him wanted to tell him, but with every second that passed in awkward quiet, Grantaire could feel his nerves quickly fading again.

"And I have a right to not make a complete ass of myself…Enjolras, I don't-"

"It can't be that hard to say, Grantaire."

"It is – well, it's not, for some people. Look, can you not just assume we're better off just like this? Our own ignorant bliss paradox?"

Sighing, Enjolras fixed him with a stern, yet curious look, making it almost impossible for Grantaire to take his eyes off of him.

"Just…tell me."

Feeling himself being backed into a corner, there was a long pause before he decided on what to do. His mouth opened before he could psyche himself out of anything else, his words fell out before he could catch them – 'Can I show you instead?' - And once he'd been granted permission, he seemed to move on blind chance alone as he got up from his place, both hands found their resting place on either side of his companion's face, and his lips finding their own seconds later against Enjolras'.


	13. Kiss and tell

It hadn't lasted an especially long time, and hadn't been so much passionate as it had been nervous and chaste. Nonetheless, it'd gotten the point across. Softly breaking contact, Grantaire let himself keep his hands where they rested for several seconds more before he pulled them away. Enjolras said nothing, and continued to say nothing, until it was too late, and Grantaire had mumbled an apology, voice soft as bird-talk, and rapidly left the room with his heart in his mouth and his stomach full of stones.

He hadn't expected anything less – he hadn't expected Enjolras to suddenly realize how blind he'd been, how much he in fact needed him in return, and how much he cared for him. Grantaire wasn't stupid, he'd known that this was what would happen. Enjolras was probably glad to be alone, glad that he'd left so that he could stop feeling so embarrassed, although now he'd have to work out how to politely let Grantaire down. How to tell him that, while he valued their friendship, he didn't see them going much further than that. Grantaire wasn't stupid…or maybe he was, for letting himself hope. Every group needed a fool, and as he tore off his clothes and stepped into the shower and let the water gradually turn his skin a scalding shade of pink, he certainly felt like nothing more than that. A fool. A good-for-nothing fool.

When Enjolras had returned to the living room and taken a seat where Grantaire had been previously, at first no one really noticed how quiet he was, or how out of it he seemed. At least, not until Montparnasse had turned over his cards and confirmed that he had already lost, more or less. Giving his friend a sneer and Jehan a dark, challenging look, his eyes soon found the blond student sat a few feet away, looking at nothing in particular with his brows knitted into a concerned frown, his cupid's bow curved into a tight line.

"What's wrong with you?" he said clearly, catching Enjolras' attention almost immediately. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Nothing that concerns you." Came his answer, stern and distracted. Exchanging looks with one another, Feuilly nonchalantly got up and approached his friend, sitting next to him and opening Grantaire's notebook, idly flicking through the drawings and doodles.

"Anything wrong..?" He was at least good enough to keep his voice discreet and low, just out of reach of prying ears. Realizing he wouldn't get anything out of it, Montparnasse kicked his feet off of the coffee table and went to make coffee, shooting glances back at Enjolras as he went. They weren't noticed, not by anyone who cared anyway.

"No. I don't think so, at least."

"Where did you two disappear off to?" Asked the chemist, pausing briefly to examine one, more detailed half-finished portrait. "You weren't gone long, but you look like he just told you he stole your kidneys in your sleep."

"…We talked, and I think I may have upset him. I don't know, I'll have to find him later…straighten things out."

Of course, Feuilly meant well – and Enjolras would have been happy to talk to him, but with something like this, something delicate, he knew who he really needed. He needed his best friend, the last lawyer in France. He didn't like gossip, how it turned a half truth or a lie into something totally warped and, more often than not, hurtful. And this wasn't something he wanted everyone in the bunker to know about. He'd deal with Grantaire once they'd had ample space from each other, and cross whatever bridge came next when he came to it.

Sensing that he wasn't going to get the whole story, Feuilly just patted Enjolras' shoulder in comfort.

"Whatever you say…but, my advice? Don't leave it too long. He's one to overthink things."

Thanking him, Enjolras soon took his leave, letting the others continue with their game while he wandered the bunker. While he wasn't necessarily looking for Grantaire, he knew he needed to clear things up with him; tell him he shouldn't have left so quickly. That'd he'd only been surprised and that, for once, he hadn't known what to say right away. He didn't know what he'd say now – he wasn't even clear about how he was meant to feel. While he'd hadn't really thought of Grantaire romantically before now, it was clear that the other felt strongly for him. As he opened the door to the dormitory and found his bed, he desperately tried to clear his head and think. He didn't know how other people did it – spent so much of their time worrying about relationships and their partners. This had only been one kiss and already he felt more stressed than he had done in some time.

X

It wasn't until later that Grantaire was finally found again, tucked away in one corner of the bunker's tiny excuse for a library room. Knocking delicately on the end of the shelf, Jehan went and took a seat next to his friend on the floor, the crestfallen cloud he had hanging over him prompting him to link their arms together loosely, his fingers gracing light lines into his sleeve. Despite him saying nothing, Jehan could see the comfort was appreciated. Looking ahead instead of at him, the poet spoke softly, as if to honour the universal silence rule all libraries abided by.

"How'd it go?"

Grantaire's jaw tightened as he swallowed thickly, keeping his breathing steady as he finally replied, the hoarseness of his own voice telling Jehan he'd been crying.

"As well as I expected…"

"I'm sorry…what did he say? What happened?"

"He, ah…he didn't say anything. He kept pushing and pushing, and so I…kissed him. And he didn't say anything, and I left."

Okay, that wasn't quite what Jehan was expecting to hear.

"Wait – so he didn't actually say 'no'?"

"Come on – he might as well have. And that's okay…I'm not going to make him feel bad. I knew he'd never say yes, and I already embarrassed myself in front of him enough. And I can't take any of it back now…"

Flicking whiskey-brown eyes to his friend, Jehan gave his arm a squeeze as he urged him to look back.

"Do you want to take it back? Do you really want to go back to him not knowing..?"

Finally managing to look up, Grantaire could feel his resolve beginning to crumble, his eyes quickly welling up and forcing him to look anywhere but his friend as he nodded with a shaky inhale.

"…It was so humiliating. I mean…I knew he wouldn't feel the same, and that's fine, and I don't know why I'm so upset by all this. It's such a petty thing to be focused on, I mean the world's come to an end for Christ's sake…"

"But?"

"…I really, really like him, Jehan. And knowing I'm not good enough…it hurts. I know it's the truth, but it hurts so much"

Sighing to himself, Jehan carefully removed his arm from its place hooked into Grantaire's, and pulled the other student into a hug. Feeling Grantaire curl his fists into his shirt just made him hold him tighter, one hand acting as the anchor while the other rubbed his back reassuringly.

"If there's anyone in this world who is good enough for him, it's you."

X

"What sort of virus do you think it is?"

Bossuet didn't get his reply until Feuilly's crossword was finally complete, by which point he'd almost forgotten he'd asked anything at all.

"Not a clue…a nasty one, by the sounds of it. Why?"

"Just thinking…we know nothing about it. How it's spread, how long it incubates…"

"Oh Christ, don't start saying stuff like that – look, we left them both alone for days. And both Grantaire and the Phantom came up clean."

"They both showed normal vitals, and had no sign of a rash or any other external indicator that they were sick."

"Right…so what're you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just thinking. Maybe we should just be a little more cautious around them for a while longer. Neither of us have any proper equipment, we can't conduct blood tests – we're placing a lot of our eggs in one basket here"

Sitting up, Feuilly wrapped an arm around the back of the sofa, giving his friend a knowing look.

"Alright, I hear you. Shotgun not telling Claquesous."

"You can't shotgun something like that."

"I think I just did."

X

"Enjolras."

Slowing to a stop in the middle of the corridor, the blond turned to see Jehan catching up to him. Motioning back the way he'd come, the poet addressed him in a tone that was probably more urgent than necessary.

"Go and talk to him, now. Go and talk to Grantaire."

"That's where I was going, I was trying to find him…Is he alright?" He asked, only now registering the look on Jehan's face.

"He needs you to either tell him that you feel the same way, or let him down gently – and I mean _gently. _Tactfully. If you can do that, we'll all be good."

Nodding almost guiltily, Enjolras headed off, though Jehan wasn't alone for long.

"Aah, poet – we really ought to stop meeting like this."

"I agree – how about you lock yourself in one of the medical rooms until…let's say, the end of the year? That should fix the problem nice and quickly."

With a snigger, Montparnasse walked forward a few more steps, stopping much closer to Jehan than he had done before as he pushed his hands into his pockets, one thumb resting in the nearest belt loop. Standing his ground for the time being, Jehan just raised his brows expectantly.

"So. What are we going to talk about this time? I think we left off at me going to jail last time?"

"I actually wanted to let you know you play a good game of poker. Surprisingly so, in fact – you should join in tomorrow."

"Perhaps."

"Go on – you know you want to. And maybe it'll make you reconsider my earlier offer."

Quirking a brow at him this time, only now did Jehan step back when Montparnasse took another forward.

"And what offer was that, exactly?"

"For us to hang out more. I think I used the phrase 'run in my circles'? Either way, I think some part of you enjoys my company. I don't think you're entirely intolerable, unlike the rest of your boy band friends."

"Wow – with statements like that, I really am hard pressed to think of a reason why you don't have more friends." Jehan replied with a roll of the eye, though this only got another light snicker as he was backed up just a little further once again.

"I'm serious. Jokes aside, you're alright. And, we're gonna be stuck in this place for a year. We might as well make the most of it."

"And I'm serious; while you're not as awful as you like people to believe, I'm not sure we'd be a good fit. Now…if you don't mind, I have somewhere to be."

"Where?"

"None of your business."

With a glance further up the corridor, Montparnasse gave Jehan a smirk.

"All that's up there are the showers and the supply room. Given that you've no need for the latter, I wouldn't mind tagging along."

"I'll bet you wouldn't."

Easing past the taller student, Jehan pushed some hair out of his face as he continued up the hallway, stopping only once to make Montparnasse reconsider his next step.

"If you follow me, I'll have you castrated in your sleep."

"Oh, a fan of dirty talk – I love it. Keep going."

With an exasperated, yet playful laugh of his own, Jehan promptly flipped him off as he walked away. Montparnasse only smiled to himself and watched the other go, heading in the opposite direction once he was completely alone.


	14. Asymptomatic

It must have been around two in the morning when they met each other again. Jehan was pulled out of his writing by the sound of someone approaching the living room, though he didn't think anything of it until they leaned down behind him and plucked his notebook right from his hands. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was, but he still did as he watched Montparnasse slowly make his way around the sofa, reading the page with his usual air of devilish mischief. Holding out his hand, Jehan gave him an expectant look.

"Give it back, please – it's not finished."

"And I'm not finished reading." Came his teasing reply, though when he happened to wander close enough, Jehan lunged out and grabbed his wrist, grabbing at the notebook but bringing Montparnasse with him. He gave it up easily after that, a smirk crawling across his lips as he straightened himself out.

"If you wanted me to sit next to you, dear poet, all you had to do was ask."

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that's not want I want." Jehan replied just as sweetly, though he put up no argument when the other man dropped into the seat next to him. He knew what he was doing; leaning just a little too close, bumping their knee's together accidentally – and while he had no idea why he was doing it to him specifically, there was a certain kind of amusement to it all. Harmless flirting was sometimes the best kind.

"So. Why exactly are you out here so late?"

"I'm usually out here at this time – sometimes I have a hard time getting to sleep, so I come out here and write, or just sit and enjoy the quiet."

"I'll have to bear that in mind." With a nod down to the lined page in his lap, Montparnasse hooked an arm around the back of the couch, which Jehan was half expecting to end up around his shoulders, if that was still something people did anyway.

"And what about you? Need I ask why you're awake?"

"Bit of a night owl. Besides, now I know I'm not the only one, I've got more of a reason to stay up."

"So charming."

"I try. What's that about, anyway? Your writing, I mean."

Bringing the notebook to his chest a little bashfully, Jehan gave Montparnasse a knowing, but curious look.

"Are you asking because you actually want to know, or just so you can fool me into thinking you're more interested in me than you actually are?"

Feigning offence, the criminal-turned-teacher went to gently pull the notebook from Jehan's hands again, though it was pulled away at the last moment.

"I'll have you know, I very much interested in you, Monsieur."

"Oh really? I always assumed you liked women."

"I like whoever can show me a good time. And besides, the only woman in the bunker at this point in time is already taken – by two men, no less!" Now that the redhead was smiling a little more now, he leaned an inch or two closer, and gave him a smile of his own.

"And I'm also interested in what it is you're writing about. A particularly handsome young teacher, perhaps?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no – it's about our experiences so far, in this bunker, this new world."

"Alright, go on then."

"…Sorry?"

"Read it to me. You're here to raise morale, might as well start with me."

"I think you'll find I'm here to help save everyone once the year's up. Besides, you've already read it."

"Maybe I want to hear you say it."

Eventually he caved, and shifted in his seat a little so that he was facing his unlikely companion. As he read, Montparnasse actually found himself listening carefully, the soft nature of the poet's voice the perfect accompaniment to the words themselves.

"…Their clashing minds did throw a spark, which scorched the world and reaped the dark. Let no science fix our path, if only numbers make it math. Our brains will run, will surely see on some sweet philosophy, until, beneath the quiet sky, atop the rubble we will stand, and finally demystify the message in fate's reprimand. Even an atomic blast cannot rid the future of the past, and with incinerated grace, we still become the human race."

As the poem came to a close, Jehan took a small breath, and turned the page over.

"Like I said, it's not finished yet…"

"It sounds good – I mean, I'm not generally a fan, but it's good. You made the words rhyme and everything."

"Well, that's usually the idea" Jehan replied through a light laugh. "What a review though; perhaps you should have become a critic instead of a teacher."

Smirking as he pretended to consider the idea, Montparnasse gestured to the notebook, letting his fingers linger against the page for a second or two. "Maybe, maybe...do you have any more?"

"Poems? I have a few, but none that you'll be hearing."

"Because they're not finished?"

"You learn quickly."

"You read that one to me though."

"Maybe because I was feeling nice."

Glancing away with a smirk, Montparnasse pushed on foot up onto the coffee table, the hand that had once been dangling down the back of the sofa now casually resting around the poet's shoulders, who in turn did nothing to distance himself from the other.

"You always seem to be feeling nice, let's be honest. Always so quiet and calm and pleasant."

"Here's a piece of advice for you; never mistake calmness for apathy, and never assume silence is consent, in any situation. You never know what's going on inside someone's mind at any given time, and now is a prime example of that"

"I'll try to remember that…although, I think you're wrong on that second bit. I reckon I can guess what's going through your mind right now."

Inclining his head towards the older student, Jehan narrowed his eyes as he drew his knees up to his chest.

"Oh? Care to share?"

"I think, you want me to kiss you, but you're also scared about what might happen if you do."

"I can assure you, I find nothing about you scary."

"Is that a yes?"

Leaning up, Jehan pressed a kiss to Montparnasse's cheek, lingering long enough for the other to catch his face and keep him there for enough time to kiss him properly. Unfortunately for the dark haired student, however, this was cut short when Jehan pulled back a minute later, originally with the intention of moving closer, but instead ending up motioning to Montparnasse's face, brows knitted in concern.

"You're bleeding"

X

"May I join you..?"

While he knew Jehan had been right, Grantaire hadn't felt any less anxious about talking to Enjolras again. Even when the blond had found him in the library, sat alone with only his thoughts for company, Grantaire had still wanted nothing more than to disappear. Sinking into the seat next to him, Enjolras took another look at him before finally speaking.

"…I owe you an apology."

Glancing up and meeting his eye, Grantaire frowned and shook his head.

"No, you don't. I probably do, for making things weird – I should have kept it to myself, I shouldn't have done…that"

"Kissed me?"

Just the words themselves seemed to make him physically cringe.

"Right…well, I'm sorry. Please forget it happened, and then maybe we can go back to arguing and insulting each other and-"

"I'm sorry I made you want to forget it." Enjolras interrupted, and for one, Grantaire didn't push it. Instead he just looked at him with a light, unsure frown.

"To be honest, I wasn't sure how to react. It hadn't been something I'd expected, and you just…you took me by surprise. That's all."

Reaching to touch his arm, Enjolras waited for Grantaire to relax into the contact as he gave him a tiny, reassuring smile.

"I'm not sorry you did it. And, depending on how it goes if we go out somewhere when all this is over, I wouldn't mind you doing it again."

"…You want to go out?"

"If you're always like this out of the classroom, then…yes. I don't see why not."

The speed that Grantaire's expression brightened was rather charming, to Enjolras at least. And while he didn't look like he entirely believed what he was hearing, he still nodded, his smile quickly becoming a boyish grin.

"I don't know what Jehan said to you, but remind me to thank him when I next see- hey, are you okay?"

"…Yes, why?"

"You're, ah…you're bleeding. Right here" Touching his own upper lip, all smiles dissolved as Enjolras brought his fingertips away, eyes widening a little when he saw they were stained in thick, dark scarlet liquid. With every second that passed, the trickle became a steady, heavy stream, both nostrils becoming taps that refused to turn off as he tried in vain to catch as much blood as he could in his cupped hand.

However, he wasn't the only one in the bathroom as he let himself in, clumsily grasping at the door to keep it to closing in Grantaire's face. At the end of the line of mirrors, sat up on the sink-side counter, was Montparnasse, seemingly having the same problem as him, with Jehan tilting his face back towards him once they'd recognised who had come in.

"Red…your favourite colour, right?" He said, voice disrupted by his nose being blocked and pinched. "Even bleeding out suits you. Typical."

"Shut up." Enjolras snapped back, only half listening to what Grantaire was telling him to do, instead addressing no one in particular as he was urged to lean forward.

"We need to wake up Feuilly and the others, tell them what's going on."

"We don't _know _necessarily what's-"

"Yes we do. Of course we do. We're infected, isn't it obvious?"

The look Grantaire and Jehan shared was enough of a confirmation.

"But, neither of us were showing symptoms – neither of us-"

"Claquesous. I think he was." Montparnasse cut in, earning a look of total disbelief and utter contempt from Enjolras.

"…_What?_"

"A few hours after they were let out, he started to feel hot, and looked pale…well, more so than usual-"

"And you didn't think to mention any of this to anyone? Are you really that fucking stupid?"

He hadn't seen Enjolras coming for him, so he was more than a little unprepared when he was suddenly pulled off of the counter and thrown against the nearest wall, With Enjolras pinning him there with a strength Montparnasse hadn't quite expected.

"We could all die because of you! Why wouldn't you say anything?"

"It could have been anything, and therefore, nothing – besides, if you'd ever had a conversation with him, if you knew him like I do, you'd know he's not doing anything he doesn't want to – you'd of had to shoot him before making him go back in that room."

"We could have forced him-"

"You could try, and he would likely have kicked the shit out of you for it."

Shoving the blond away from him, Montparnasse swayed a little as he caught his balance, glaring at the other with eyes now beginning to turn bloodshot. As Grantaire urged Enjolras to back off, Jehan stepped a little closer to them both, keeping both hands out in case one decided to suddenly go for the other once more. Both were now spattered with their own blood, which didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. Making him sit on the counter as Montparnasse had been, Grantaire told Enjolras what to do again, this time making sure he listened, looking away only when Jehan touched his shoulder.

"I'm going to wake up the others – make sure they don't kill each other."

"No promises." He said quietly, trying to give him a smile but failing as he gently pulled Enjolras forward an inch or so more.

"Rest your elbows on your knees…there, now keep the pressure for a little longer, keep your head tilted down…"

"We're going to lose. Again." He heard Enjolras hiss, his anger and frustration all frighteningly apparent.

"Not all of us, necessarily. We'll go back into quarantine, stay away from the others…maybe we can still contain it."

"Listen to you being optimistic, of all people…"


	15. Permets-tu

Within the hour, everybody was aware of what was going on, and those who weren't showing immediate symptoms had been separated from those who were. Montparnasse opted to stay with Claquesous, whose temperature had sky rocketed since his last check up, and who very quickly succumbed to a crude, half-hearted argument.

Enjolras was put into one of the medical bays, the other two in the room next door. And while the bleeding had stopped for the time being, other signs he was sick had begun to show themselves; he was stripped down to a T-Shirt and boxers, but still felt unbearably hot. His stomach twisted into knots and no amount of water could quench his thirst. Feuilly had given him something to bring down his temperature, and for a little while, it had worked. But soon enough he was sat slumped on the floor, against the wall, letting the cool surface bring some modicum of relief to his sweat-soaked body. For the first minute, he didn't quite register the fact that someone was knocking on the door, and he noticed too late that the door was opening and that Grantaire was now inside with him, holding out his hands with a smirk, as if to say 'surprise!'

"Evening."

"What're you doing..? Get out."

"Why?"

Squinting up at him under furrowed brows, the blond gave him a look of complete disbelief, as if he couldn't quite comprehend how Grantaire could have forgotten why they'd all been separated.

"Because I'm sick, because you're not presenting symptoms-"

"Yet." He said simply.

"Grantaire, this isn't a joke – if you didn't have it before, you'll certainly catch it the longer you're in here."

"I had a possibility of being infected anyway, and it's more than likely that you caught it from me."

Taking a seat opposite him and getting as comfortable as he could, Grantaire straightened out his leg, and gently nudged Enjolras' thigh with his foot, waiting for him to open his eyes and look at him again before giving him an apologetic smile – one that, had it not been for the foul and frightened mood he found himself in, maybe he would have returned.

"While we're on the topic; you're welcome."

"I don't remember thanking you for this."

"Maybe not verbally…but hey, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"This _is _going to kill me."

"Touché."

"Grantaire, this isn't a joke. Get up and get out, there's no point in you putting yourself at more risk-"

"Did you not hear what I just said? I've been exposed to it even before I was voted in. I'm safer in here, and so are the others that haven't caught it. So…I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Enjolras fixed him with a hard, serious glare – the very same that would normally have his opponent backing off or excusing themselves from the situation. But Grantaire was someone who not only knew how to argue, but could also be just as stubborn as their leader when he felt like it. Once Enjolras realized that his alone time had come to an abrupt end, he did eventually yield, and allowed Grantaire to keep him company, though after some time had passed and he looked up, it was his turn to point out that the other was bleeding.

X

"You're a fucking idiot, you know."

Claquesous didn't look up, or open his eyes, and at first, Montparnasse assumed he hadn't heard him, or that he'd fallen asleep. Ripping a page from the nearest book, he screwed it into a ball and hurled it at his friend, finally earning himself a grunted response.

"You hear me? You're a cock."

"Fuck off."

"No can do. Until one of us drops, you're gonna have to put up with me."

"'Parnasse, I'm not in the mood."

"I don't give a shit what you're in the mood for. You're the one that came out of here, knowing you were infected. You're the one who made me sick. Enjolras, too-"

"Of all the things you could be pissed with me for, why do you give a flying fuck about whether or not he's healthy? You can't stand the guy."

With visible effort, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, wiping fresh blood from his nose as he met his friend's eye with a poisonous look. Even speaking sounded painful, his voice coarse and raw, but he still managed each sentence with his usual eloquent articulation.

"I knew I was infected. Big fucking deal. This is all hypothetical, it doesn't matter if we all die or not. There was no way I was spending my year, my first turn in the bunker, in a tiny room away from everyone."

"I thought you hated everyone."

"And I thought you hated our class too, but evidently, screwing the poet has made you a changed man."

That was met with an indignant scoff.

"What? You're denying it then?"

"Yeah, I'm denying it. I haven't screwed anyone in a pathetically long time."

"Okay, I'll rephrase; if you hadn't before now, you were planning to. The way you pushed for him to change his cards, the way you stand when you're near him, how you two talk – you might as well have just bent him over the kitchen counter when he first got voted in, gotten it over with. God knows he looks like he needs it."

His rant was ended abruptly by a violent fit of coughs, which Montparnasse patiently waited out, silently pleased for the peace and quiet as he shed his jacket, and soon after, his shirt as well, flawless skin soon layered in a sheen of sweat.

"You know…if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous of him." He replied, breath hitching as he tried to get to his feet, his insides seeming to cramp painfully in response. Sinking back down, he shot Claquesous a smirk, though cherry lips were now beginning to pale, and seemed to struggle the hold the weight of the smile that was once weightless.

"Fuck off, 'Parnasse – it's true and you know it. I just don't see why."

"Why I'd want to 'bend him over the counter'?"

"Yeah. He's a total pushover, he has the personality of a wet piece of cardboard, he might as well not have any balls at all - he puts flowers in his hair for Christ's sake. I don't see what someone like you would see in that. Everyone else you've had in the past has had evidence of a backbone. You've been with _women _who could beat him in an arm-wrestling match-"

"Claquesous, if you've been choosing fuck buddies based on who you can beat at arm wrestling, I'm honestly not surprised you haven't been laid since your sixteenth."

Had it not been for a gentle knocking on the door, Montparnasse might have earned himself a beating, despite the weak disposition of his companion. Getting up, he opened the door a crack.

"Aaah, speak of the devil."

"Am I being discussed?" Asked Jehan with a surprised, slightly sceptical smile. Nodding him inside the room, much to the chagrin of his friend, Montparnasse closed the door once more, ushering him over to the chair he'd taken as his own and tugging him into his lap a second later. Taken aback by the action, at first Jehan did nothing but let the other hold him loosely in place, though the fact he was shirtless wasn't lost on him, nor look he was shooting across the room.

"Am I interrupting something..?"

"Nah – well, actually Claquesous was just telling me how much I likes having you around."

"Suck my dick, Mont. And get him out of here – I want to sleep."

Sharing a look, Montparnasse beckoned the poet to lean down closer to him, letting him shift around a little more to make himself comfortable before speaking, doing so deliberately quietly so that their conversation remained private.

"Honestly? He doesn't like you much."

Raising a brow, Jehan gave him a strange look.

"That's hardly breaking news, he's never liked me. He's never really liked anyone…Why were you talking about me, anyway?"

"He brought you up – said he didn't understand why I like you." He replied with an easy smirk.

"Ah, I see…and you explained it to him, I imagine?"

"I was getting to it."

"A very thinly veiled way of saying 'I didn't want to have to defend you to my big, bad, mysterious best friend'"

"Not true. I was just about to when you came a-knocking."

"Of course you were."

It was plain as day that he'd had no intention of doing so, but Jehan still went with it, refusing him a kiss at the last second with a pretty little simper, and going to climb off of him, though a hand clamped on his thigh made this act just a little more difficult.

"I didn't come here to flirt with and kiss you."

"Then why did you? Because, my dear poet, whatever you have to say, I don't see why you can't say it from my lap."

"Perhaps I wanted to see how you felt? And talking about the fact you're now infected with a horrible disease does somewhat dampen any mood you were hoping to build here."

"Tell you what, then…let me kiss you once, and you can sit where you like."

"I'll tell you what – I'll sit where I like, and you can think about me kissing you anywhere you please."

After a moment's consideration, Montparnasse released Jehan, and he got up and did as he said he would. However, as they talked – now with little consideration for Claquesous – Jehan had to help Montparnasse once again when his nose began to bleed, this time the flow far heavier than before, though this was closely followed by far more painful cramps in his abdomen, the pain quickly going from easy-to-ignore to literally gut wrenching.

Within the next few minutes, he was vomiting thick, dark blood, most of which ended up spattered across Jehan and pooled on the floor. He'd known it was coming – Claquesous had puked once or twice, but as he struggled to catch his breath and willed his stomach to settle, Montparnasse would have sworn it hadn't been this bad. Jehan helped to clean him up, and once his body gave him a short break, he let him press a cold cloth to his burning forehead. Finding the free, freckled hand to his right, Montparnasse gave it a small squeeze.

"You make a cute nurse, you know?"

"Thank you."

"Though, this does make me regret not trying to win you over sooner."

Rolling his eyes, Jehan gently pulled his hand out of the other's grasp to push his own hair behind his ear.

"If you wanted to sleep with me that badly, perhaps you could have gotten to know me properly. Who knows, maybe I would have even asked you out."

"So, you _do _like me."

"Montparnasse, you don't need reminding you're incredibly good looking. But of course, that's not all there is to a person. You're also not half as badass as you like to think. All that, plus more…yes, I'd say I like you."

X

It wasn't long before Grantaire was rubbing a hand up and down his partner's back as he emptied his stomach into the sink, the bowl filling with blood faster than it could drain. By this point, Enjolras had pushed his anger to the side, and was suddenly far more grateful for the company. The hours passed them both, and their symptoms both worsened at an almost even rate, until both lay side by side on the bed, unable to stand up anymore, and unable to stay asleep for long due to the discomfort.

Neither spoke for some time. Grantaire had positioned his face near Enjolras', with the intention of being close enough to press butterfly kisses into his hair or to his temple when the next wave of pain crackled through him.

"You're such…an idiot, 'Taire. Such an idiot…"

"I know."

"You shouldn't have stayed. I don't understand why you'd stay – if this was real, you wouldn't have, so why bother now?"

Feeling fresh blood flow down past his lips, Grantaire shrugged weakly, not bothering to clean it away.

"I would have…if it was real, I would have stayed. I wouldn't have let you be by yourself."

"I wouldn't let you if it was real."

"Well…would you like me to ask your permission, for this round? Do you permit it?"

His answer came in the form of one weak, sweaty hand finding his, pressing the palm and giving Grantaire a wonderful feeling of victory.

X

Montparnasse had been the first to die in the night. The infection had taken a strong, unshakeable hold on him, and despite his much longer exposure time, it was a while before Claquesous followed suit, finally meaning Jehan had a reason to leave, though he didn't until Feuilly came to find him. And it was when they checked in the other room that they found Enjolras and Grantaire, with bloodstained pillows and sheets, and lips now a ghostly shade of blue. No breath had been drawn by either in hours.

Both Musichetta and Bossuet were infected by now as well, though they hadn't bothered to quarantine them; there wouldn't have been any point any more. Feuilly was likely infected too and just wasn't showing symptoms. And so, the remaining four students spent their time as they normally would, acting as normally as they could until the sickness began to claw at them as well. And eventually, one followed the other like slow falling dominoes.

Jehan had taken bed sheets from the dormitory and covered the bodies of his friends with them, and when the Teacher – who had returned, mostly unnoticed by the majority of the class - had called a close to the scenario, which had ended with him stating that he'd take his own life soon after he'd been left alone. While the decision wasn't one he seemed to struggle with, Courfeyrac had asked him why – why kill yourself when you have the opportunity to help save others? He was immune after all.

"What use is an immune person if I can't leave the bunker?" Jehan had replied in a quiet voice, his expression neutral but his eyes troubled. "I'd have died eventually any way; Montparnasse never shared the code with the rest of us."

"Nah…I would have written it down somewhere. Check your notebook, I'd have put it in there-"

"It's too late for that; he's already shot himself." Came the Teacher, crushing any hope of Jehan leaving the situation alive.

"Perhaps you should have shared that information before catching the new plague."


	16. The philosophy game

Even after the situation had been discussed and reviewed, no one left just yet. Books were packed away, but everyone just perched on the edge of their desks, wanting to keep the company a little while longer. Thankfully, at long last, it'd cooled down at least a bit, the sun taking a break behind some clouds and giving the students a few minutes of freedom from the heat of the afternoon. However, nothing good lasts forever, and even as they said their goodbyes to the teacher and headed outside onto the grass, all were moaning about the humidity soon enough. They settled in a large sort-of circle in the shade of a cluster of trees, some laying back with bags as pillows, other finding a lap to rest in.

After some harsh words were exchanged, Montparnasse ended up being the only one of his trio of friends to remain with the group, standing off to the side, as if he required an invitation to enter the social circle. And at first, it appeared that he might have regretted deciding to stay behind, given that his presence wasn't exactly welcome – until Jehan beckoned him over, moving over to give him his own space.

As the black haired boy made himself comfortable, his companion pulled his hair back into a half-hearted ponytail, most of the shorter strands escaping his grip even before he'd finished with the tie. But even if most of it came out of its restraints, having his neck exposed meant that the thin layer of sweat found there had the chance to cool him off. Those with thicker, darker hair had long since given up trying to combat it, though when Courfeyrac felt someone gently tilt his head forward, with short bursts of air dusting across his nape, he found himself grinning in relief, shooting Feuilly a look of theatrical gratitude over his shoulder has he fanned him.

"Just so we're clear - out of three rounds, we only won one of them. Fantastic."

"Does it matter?" Said Marius, meeting Courfeyrac's raised brow-look with a short shrug, and a smile of his own.

"I mean, I thought this was really interesting; it made us all think, and it was memorable. The rest of my classes haven't nearly been this good."

"He's got a point – all we did in English was watch a movie." Agreed Joly.

"So…what now? Are you all just going your separate ways, or are we invading someone's place and then not leaving until the wee hours of the morning? Because, I for one am up for that."

Grantaire's suggestion was met with general anticipation, though the decision of whose house they should all invade came up soon after. Eventually, it came down to either Bahorel or Musichetta, and after a text or two had been sent and some debate had, Musichetta caved, and thus the situation was resolved. Times were set, and so their evening was planned out. But for the time being, the class decided to while away some more of the afternoon outside, savouring each other's company in this particular setting. Some fell asleep as music was put on, and while the conversation wasn't loud or too deep, even in the peace and quiet the group found themselves content.

Jehan and Montparnasse continued their flirtatious exchanges, much to the surprise and uncertainty of some of the others. Montparnasse was not thought highly of in the group by any stretch of the imagination, and when it came to the youngest among them, although Jehan was more than capable of looking after himself, a select few watched the scene unfold through protective, distrusting eyes. These looks were ignored, however, as both boys let themselves enjoy the moment, knowing it wouldn't be interrupted this time by infectious disease.

Across the way, on the other hand, Grantaire and Enjolras were sat against one another, hands tentatively entwined and the words and thoughts shared quiet and shy, but honest. Neither of them had expected one class to open this particular door for them, but as farfetched as it might have seemed when the bell had first rung, neither were complaining now that it was over. One thing none of them had really thought about was what they planned to do once the summer was over, once they'd graduated – but until then, they were happy to live in the moment, and enjoy their time together while it lasted. And who knows? Maybe a fourth round of the Philosophy game would take place later that evening, at 3am when all were just a little inebriated on wine and good company. Grantaire knew he wasn't alone in the hope that they'd get one more chance to play; after all, what good is a game if it doesn't leave you wanting 'just one more round'?

X


End file.
